


Beauty within the Beast

by Of_Princes_and_Savages



Series: Beauty within the Beast 'verse [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark One Belle, F/M, OMG I'M POSTING A FIC!, Role Reversal, Skin Deep AU, Spinner!Rumple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 81,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/pseuds/Of_Princes_and_Savages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark One claims a peasant from the village as her price for protecting them from the Ogres, but neither she nor the village coward anticipate how their deal turns into so much more...</p><p>WINNER OF T.E.A.'S 2018 BEST DO!BELLE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I: Once upon a time...

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first story I've been kicking around since I realized this was 'a thing' you could do. (Actually it's my first story ever *le gasp!* so if you have some tips...please?) I strive for grammatical correctness and weekly updates, barring accidents, so...  
> Here I go?

The Frontlands was a dull, grayish-brown country. The grass was more gray than green, the trees looked tired of growing in the hilly land, and the people wore varying shades of brown and gray and were just as dull and rough as their landscape suggested. And that was before the war.

The Seventh Ogre Wars had been upon the Frontlands for nearly fifteen years. The Duke of the Frontlands ruled as an emperor, not because he was wealthy or powerful, but mainly in the sense that he thought he was God and his people were his to command. He accidentally started the war with a mountain patrol that went awry, and the Ogres swooped on the once fertile land and started devouring the sheep and people and anything with a pulse between violent rampages. He continued the war, perhaps, out of some twisted sense of honor to defend his lands, even though any support from his allies had dried up three years earlier.

The age of conscription had dropped steadily ever since. Early in the first of the three years, of-age girls were acquired, too. The optimistic thought that women were being trained to fight too. The pessimistic thought that those poor girls were being used for other reasons. The realists like Rumpelstiltskin knew that it was a horrid mix of both with a ninety percent chance of never returning home alive.

And when Bae's thirteen-year-old friend Morraine was dragged kicking and screaming from the arms of her parents yesterday, the village coward was not the only one trembling with terror.

_Thirteen._

They were taking _children_ now.

Children like his _son_ , who would be _thirteen_ in three days.

Well...two days now. And Rumpelstiltskin still felt the shame and burning humiliation from last night. The biggest brute of all, Hordor, more suited to mercenary work and groping barmaids than a knighthood, had made him kiss his boot and filled his son's ears with such horrible things.

Things that were true, but a boy should never hear his father was a coward from men like Hordor. Or maybe father's just hoped their boys never heard things like that. For the past seven years, Rumpelstiltskin had provided for Baelfire on his own. He'd balanced washing and mending, tending their weedy garden with cooking an equally meager meal, keeping their thatch roof from leaking and tending their sheep, all while finding time to spin at his wheel to earn them enough money to scrape by.

Coward, deserter, and possibly a bastard, all true, but Rumpelstiltskin would do anything for Bae. If he had to kiss a man's boot to keep said man from killing him and taking his son early, so be it. It wasn't like he had any pride to save anymore, and he'd never had honor to start with. Maybe Milah had been right all along.

Maybe it would've been better if he'd died at the front.

Rumpelstiltskin was nearing fifty, but he felt twice that old already. He was too old to believe in fairy tales, and feared what price a fairy would demand for keeping his son safe. Something precious, probably, like Bae, since that was the only thing of worth in his life. 

**All magic comes with a price.**

He'd learned that when he was a small boy and tried to impress that on Bae. Magic might reunited lost lovers and save kingdoms, but it also might ruin men and doom kingdoms. Sometimes all at once.

He wasn't surprised the Blue Fairy didn't answer his pleas. He didn't really believe in her, and if he did, she probably had better things to tend to than one filthy peasant in a filthy backwoods village in the middle of a war zone.

A horrible numbness had taken hold in Rumpelstiltskin-the spinner who once had so much potential, the son of a jackass who became village coward, the man who didn't fight for his wife,-as the dawn of the third day approached. The soldiers would be there at dawn. And if, no, when, they took Bae...he would truly become dust...

He didn't sleep. Obviously. Sat twiddling his staff between his palms, trying (and failing) not to stare at the notches on the staff. Each one marked how tall Bae had grown, each notch cut on his birthday for the past twelve years.

"Papa?"

Rumpelstiltskin turned to his boy, who must've gotten up when he lost in the dark places in his mind. In Bae's hand was a knife, and on his young face was a smile that didn't reach his too-serious eyes. To his own surprise, a smile appeared on the spinner's worn face and he stood. "Come here son."

Bae stood with his back to the staff as Rumpelstiltskin took the knife and cut a neat little mark in the worn wood. Bae turned once he was done, and gave a smile with a little more life to it. "I'm gonna be taller than your staff," he almost laughed. Almost.

Before Rumpelstiltskin could register the soul-shattering ache caused by remembering this everyday interaction was going to be the last they ever had...there was a brilliant flash of yellow light.

"What was _that_?" Bae scurried over to the door and stuck his head out, his father limping behind him. "Papa did you see it?"

"I...I did," Rumpelstiltskin frowned. "Did it come from the well in town?"

Looking outside, the spinner noticed that other neighbors were creeping outside. So everyone saw it. Good, at least they weren't going mad-

" _Bae! Where are you going?!_ "

His son looked at him like it was obvious...which it was. "C'mon Papa, let's go see what happened. Maybe it's a fairy!"

Rumpelstiltskin would bet all the gold he didn't have that it wasn't a fairy, but trundled beside his son down to the village well anyway. A small crowd was gathering, and Rumpelstiltskin certainly hoped his boy would grow taller than him. Five feet and eight inches was a difficult height for a man to be, especially when every other _**TALLER** _ neighbor was huddled around the well, forming a wall of humans that prevented him from seeing what was so interesting.

So he listened very closely when the oddly accented, lilting female voice chirped, "Good morning! I hope you slept well, or at least what passes for well in your little war zone."

The blacksmith and the baker's wife-both at least three inches taller than him and a great deal wider,-shifted enough for him to squeeze between them after Bae darted forward. As soon as Rumpelstiltskin set eyes on the young female perched on the edge of the well, he knew it wasn't a fairy at all.

_**The Dark One.** _


	2. II. The Price is Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we last left off, The Dark One appeared in the village of Rumpelstiltskin in the pre-dawn hours, summoned by villagers to protect themselves from the Ogres and their children from the Duke's men...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...chapter 2! Just so you know I heavily researched YouTube for the episode where Rumple becomes the Dark One, because I didn't watch Season 1 of OUAT. I got all kinds of giggly at that "Wood burns" line, because obviously Henry didn't inherit shit about intelligence from the Charmings...not that have any to start give anyway...

The Dark One was...tiny.

Everyone knew what the Dark One was. Everyone knew to be afraid of the Dark One. Everyone knew no matter how powerful your monarch was, the Dark One was greater still. Ten minutes ago, Rumpelstiltskin would have thought that, Gods forbid he ever see the Dark One, he could describe her in words like: Intimidating, fearsome, larger than life.

Not...tiny...

But the Dark One was _tiny_. Hardly taller than Bae, if that.

She sat on the rim of the well with her ankles crossed, with little bare feet with toes painted a midnight blue. Her skin was like white marble, pale and smooth and gleaming in the pre-dawn light, her youthful heart-shaped face void of color, even her full lips white as death. Her hair was dark brown with hints of red, piled up in a messy bun with wisps curling free and loose. But her eyes...gods her eyes were chilling. Rimmed by sooty black lashes were the bluest eyes the spinner had ever seen, but void of light and flat like those of a dead thing. She wore a tight leather jerkin cut low beneath her bust, with a pale, lace-trimmed chemise that covered the... _delicate_ places, but still gave a glimpse at the smooth valley between her perky...

Rumpelstiltskin didn't linger there.

But the skirt that came down to her knees was more interesting anyway. (At least to a man who worked in textiles.) It was made from uneven squares of pale green and brown materials, silks and lace and velvet, stitched with thick black thread. Sitting on the well drew it up from her knees, revealing her smooth, well-shaped legs. The spinner drew his gaze back up to the Dark One's face, and she looked directly at him and gave him a slow, curling smile, the sort of smile maidens flash when they flirt for a cruel thrill rather than attracting a suitor.

_Tiny was terrifying._

"So!" the Dark One hopped off her perch, and everyone took a step back. "This is the Frontlands, hmm? Y'know, can't say I've done a lot of business out here..."

She folded her hands behind her back, her head rolling to the side like a curious kitten. "Can't say I've wanted to, either. But y'know what? A _lot_ of people in this village have been weeping and wailing lately. Seems your finally tired of fighting the Duke's little war for him."

Her eyes fell on everyone in the front of the crowd and Rumpelstiltskin drew Bae closer to him.

"Papa, is that the Dark One?"

"Hush Bae," Rumpelstiltskin begged.

The Dark One must've heard them, because she executed a graceful curtsy, spreading her patchwork skirts. "My reputation proceeds me, lovely! I must say this is a first. Never before has half a village called for my personal attention, you are desperate! Soooooo desperate, in fact, that I couldn't resist seeing what all the fuss was about. And I must say: Tyrannical aristocrat, swarms of Ogres, children stolen from their homes, a sky painted red with their blood! Oh _,_ this is the stuff I _kill_ for!"

She then gave a little giggle that would have been cute, girlish even, if it hadn't come at the end of a sentence that was _clearly_ not a quip. And as soon as it ended her eyes flashed and her voice dropped to a lower register, speaking almost as if in warning: _"For a price, of course."_

Images of a teenager that had been a man surrounded by green swirls of magic flashed behind the spinner's eyes as he pressed Bae closer to his narrow chest.

If the Dark One was to be believed, he wasn't the only one who gave up on the benevolent Blue Fairy to flutter in and save their children. In fact, for once, Rumpelstiltskin felt like he was on the moral high ground, which was really odd in itself, but he didn't even think of summoning _the bloody Dark One_!

_All magic comes with a price._

W-we're not a wealthy village, Dark One," someone-the tailor?-meekly began. "But if it's gold you want, we could surely-"

"There's greater treasures than silver and gold in the world!" the Dark One chirped. "Everyone here should know that. You all want your children protected from the Duke's men, you want them brought back, you want the war to end, and I _want_ to help you. Really."

Rumpelstiltskin had been on the receiving end of enough taunts and insults and demoralizing speeches to know that she was toying with them. It was in the way her voice dropped out of the sweet tone into something more sinister, how her lips twisted in a not-quite-smile, and misty eyes darted underneath her lashes to look all around. She was a cat playing with mice, the card-sharp holding a stacked deck. This tiny woman held an entire village by the strings, playing them to the tune of her choice.

_All magic comes with a price._

"What do you want?" Morraine's father asked at last. It was surprising to see him out here, more so his wife, who was tucked close to his side.

The Dark One smiled. "My price is a life. Man, woman, boy, girl, young, old, doesn't matter who, but the price is _this;_ One of you will come with me as my..." she bit her lip through a coy smile. _"_ _Caretaker._ One life for the end of a war and the lives of thousands, can't get any fairer than that!"

There was the hushed whispers of terrified, fearful people. Rumpelstiltskin looked down at Bae, trying block them out as he processed what the Dark One just offered.

 _"One of you will come with me as my..._ caretaker. _"_

Gods forbid that be a euphemism for anything...but something unfamiliar stirred in the spinner's chest.

He'd felt this once in his life, maybe, always to tragic disappointment...but...it felt like hope. Or desperation. Maybe both. The last time he felt this way it was when that seer told him her damned prophecy and he crushed his foot to avoid going into battle. He returned home a branded coward, to the scorn of his neighbors and wife, doomed to the bottom of the social order of the village. But he had done his best to take care of his son, and all things considered, he'd done damn good at it.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled his son closer.

"I will go."

He wasn't sure if he said it out loud until Bae yelped, " _NO!_ " and the crowd fell dead silent in an instant. Either they were shocked that the village coward spoke up, or just relieved they someone stepped up instead of them. It didn't really matter at this juncture, though, did it?

"No! Papa you can't, you can't do this, please," Bae, his brave, brave boy, looked up at him with something like defiance, but far too pleading. "If the law says I must fight, I will fight. Besides, you can't go, what about your l-"

"Baelfire you listen to me," Rumpelstiltskin was rather proud that his voice was level and steady instead of shaking. Which he was. "I am a coward, son, that knight was right, I am a coward. I ran from the war, but one person does not make a difference against those monsters. You don't know what this war is like, what it will do to you! It's not something anyone would wish for their child! Perhaps me most of all. Because...because coward or no, you're all I've got. And I will do anything to keep you safe."

"Papa," Bae clung to his arm like he'd done when he was small and frightened by a thunderstorm in the middle of the afternoon, plunging the world into darkness. "If you have to do this, then I'll go with you."

"Ummmm, what part of _'one of you'_ didn't you understand, little boy?" The Dark One put her hands on her hips and cocked them to the left.

"You're not taking my papa from me!" Bae argued, and she looked at him like he was a puppy that performed a rather clever trick. "If you take him, I come too!"

Rumpelstiltskin had never been prouder of his son's courage.

_He had also never been more frustrated by that same merit._

"I can't let you do that Bae," the spinner disengaged his son's hands, but squeezed them tightly. "Th-this isn't just about you Bae, don't you see? If I do this, all the children will be saved, the war over. A life without war, a life where you all grow up instead of lay in pieces on a battlefield? To me, that's a price I'm willing to pay."

The world had shrunk down to him, his son, and the prickling sensation of the Dark One creeping closer. There wasn't enough time, would _never_ _be_ enough time. He brushed his fingers over his son's shoulder and managed something close to a smile. "I-I can do this, and I'll be alright...promise."

"Papa..." Bae's lip wobbled and his dark eyes shimmered, but he managed a brave smile. "I-I'm proud of you...an' you're not a coward..."

At that moment, it didn't matter that everyone else in the village was as quiet as the dead. It didn't matter that this shattered his promise to never leave Bae. All that mattered was that his boy was proud of him. Even the fact that he was safe, that this act may just save the entire Frontlands, paled in comparison to that. Rumpelstiltskin stood up as tall as he could and turned around to face the Dark One.

_"Yes?"_

"Wah!" Rumpelstiltskin jumped back half a step, startled that the tiny sorceress was less than a foot in front of him. "Ah, uh, I-"

" _Hmmm_?" the Dark One cupped a dainty hand to her ear. "What was that? Do you acknowledge that this deal is forever, non-negotiable, no-take-backs?"

"If...if I go with you, the Ogres will be gone, and the children safe? That's the deal?" Rumpelstiltskin's hands only shook a little as they gripped his staff.

The Dark One smile became something milder, less frightening, as she bobbed her head. "For as long as you serve me."

"Then you have my word," Rumpelstiltskin nodded, surprised at how sure he felt.

Oh that wouldn't last but it was an oddly nice feeling for now.

The Dark One clapped her little hands and giggled again. "Deal! Oh, and boy?"

She curled around Rumpelstiltskin's free arm, leaning close to Bae, who was at least as tall as she was, with a conspiratorial stage-whisper, "Y'know, you've got a good reason to be proud."

Neither Baelfire nor his father quite understood that, but as quick as this odd momentary softness in the Dark One's features appeared it vanished, and the Dark One pulled back with a wave to the still-silent villagers, keeping one arm hooked around their village coward's arm. "Congratulations on your little war! Maybe I'll come back next crisis for a maid!"

And in a puff of golden smoke, they were gone.

**It was the last the Frontlands village would ever see of the spinner Rumpelstiltskin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone who's actually bothered to read my first-ever story. (I may have made a sound like a squeaky toy when I saw people actually noticed, liked, and commented on it...is that normal?) I've got at least the next three chapters mapped out, so I'll keep posting on Fridays/Saturdays until further notice...or lack of notice, I guess?
> 
> IN CHAPTER III: The Dark One has some fun with her caretaker, her caretaker does not have fun, and Bae makes a plan.


	3. III. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, the Dark One brought village coward Rumpelstiltskin as her caretaker to the Dark Castle, separating him from his son Baelfire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact/continuity checkers! I'm trying to post the right Numerals, (III, IX, VIII, etc.,) so if you see one that's wrong, please tell me?

The Dark Castle was the largest building the Frontland spinner had ever set eyes on. The Duke's stronghold, stables and barracks included, would have fit in a quarter of the land overtaken by the massive structure.

It sat at the top of a hill swathed in a thick evergreen forest, which overlooked the marshes below leading out to the sea Rumpelstiltskin thought he could see in the distance. The castle itself was big with tall towers breaking up the mainly square shape. The roof was tiled in a dark brick red, and the walls may have been a creamy silvery-white once, but with mildew and time they'd been turned into a dirty gray streaked with greenish-black. The courtyard was full of what Rumpelstiltskin figured may have been planter boxes at one point, but the late autumn weather had killed off whatever was planted inside, which appeared to be mainly dying grays and dry branches. Weaving through the boxes were cobblestone paths that had more weeds growing between the cracks (and there were lots of cracks,) all converging into one, large straight path leading to the main entrance of the foreboding fortress.

The Dark One released her hold on his arm and tripped up to the large, oaken doors. Rumpelstiltskin obediently shuffled after her, wondering if the Dark One had superhuman strength to open the great doors, but then they swung inwards before she even touched them. ( _Ah, yes, magic._ ) So, as quickly as he could manage with his walking staff, the spinner hurried to catch up with the Dark One, who was breezing through her dusty foyer with the grace of a dancer.

The foyer may have been beautiful, once. Now the musty drapes were half-parted over grimy windows that hardly let in any light, but showed cobwebs and dust on filthy, well-made furniture all the same. There was a delicate vase on a table, with a shriveled, dead flower sitting there looking...sad.

_A once beautiful living thing, that withered away in a dark room from neglect and abandon._

The centerpiece of the foyer, (as big as Rumpelstiltskin's whole house,) appeared to be the massive staircase in the middle that made a sort of rounded Y-shape, a short flight leading to a landing, before splitting in different directions. Heading up the stairs, the Dark One turned up the right wing. More than bit thankful it was early in the day, Rumpelstiltskin limped up the daunting staircase after his new mistress as she led the way down a maze of corridors.

There were beautiful paintings and ornate tapestries hanging up on the walls, and a few odd pedestals here and there with exotic-looking baubles Rumpelstiltskin would have to remember not to break. There were also many doors, and behind the one they finally opened was a short flight of stairs leading downwards. Rumpelstiltskin held in a sigh, silently cursing everything from his ankle to the invention of stairs, as he carefully began making his way up the stairs while the Dark One skipped ahead.

* * *

Belle probably should have acquired the name of her new caretaker, since he appeared to be the only volunteer in his decrepit little village. Save the boy, but he was a bit... _larger_ , than the children she was used to dealing in.

She made a living in exploiting people's weaknesses, so she could read people fairly well. And she didn't think that this little man had called for her aid, so it was amusing that he should be the one paying her price. A better person would have demanded one of the peasants who actually begged for her and left this one alone.

But on the other hand, there was a delicious irony in separating a father from the son he'd do anything to protect. _Anything_ was such a dangerous word.

Belle had paid him no mind when they arrived, hearing his boot steps and walking stick clack against the stone floor behind her, but faltered as she neared the kitchen doors. Was it her imagination, or was he lagging further and further behind? When she turned, she found the peasant still carefully picking his way down the stairs to the bottom, keeping his weight to his left leg.

"Why are you back there?" she frowned, wondering if he was dragging his feet on purpose or...

Wait. Was that stick more than a prop?

Her new servant's head popped up, eyes hardly meeting hers, and looking down at his feet again within a few seconds. "I...um, st-stairs slow me down, m'lady...I haven't had much practice on them with, ah..."

Belle put her hands on her hips. "Spit it out."

"I-I'm a cripple, m'lady," he blurted, fluttering his free hand down at his right leg. "I need my staff to walk, b-but I can still work! I-I'm not invalid, a-and I...I can work..."

Belle eyed him critically then, causing him to shut his mouth.

He was desperately in need of a good scrubbing, his shaggy hair needed a cut and a comb, a sandy sort of brown just lighter than his dark eyes and graying at the temples. He wore a knee-length tunic that was much worse for wear, threadbare linen trousers, and much-battered boots. He was only a few inches taller than her own diminutive height, but the way his narrow shoulders hunched made him seem smaller. The lines in his face deepened as the silence wore on, so she couldn't tell if he was mid forties or early fifties, but he looked like a frightened child expecting to be caned with his own staff. He also had an odd accent in his soft, stuttering voice. _'Like I'm one to judge accents,'_ Belle mused, then another thought hit her and she giggled in her slightly mad fashion.

She had said _anyone_ , and an crippled older man was definitely _anyone._ _Hmm!_ She'd have to keep an eye on him. He was either very lucky, or very clever.

"Let's just see how useful you are," Belle purred, twirling around her blue-painted toes and breezing through the kitchen door. A snap of her fingers and all filth in the kitchen was cleaned up, so the little peasant wouldn't contaminate her tea with cobwebs. Not that he would know that, since he limped in behind her after it was clear, looking around warily. Belle resisted another insane giggle, because _suuure_ , she kept her most dangerous torture implements in the kitchen. How ridiculous.

They were in a neat little chest in the dungeons.

"After you prepare my tea, go back up the stairs," Belle directed. "And turn right down the corridor instead of left. Keep going until you come to another turn, then straight and you can't miss the Great Room. I'll see if you can make tea or not, and then I'll describe you duties for the duration of your stay."

Instructions given, Belle vanished in a flash of golden smoke and reappeared in the Great Room, flopping into the big chair at the head of the massive table that dominated the room. She cast a lazy eye around her hall, and smiled at her proverbial court. Large dark red drapes covering the windows, with a matching carpet on the floor. Set in the alcoves around the room on pedestals were some of her more interesting treasures (Golden Fleece, hat belonging to a foolish wizard apprentice, couple-turned-puppets acquired in an amusing-but-tragic mishap she didn't actually have a real stake in,) on display.

Maybe if his tea was crap, she could turn the peasant into a statue. Yes. He'd look nice by the door, thereabouts. Or maybe between the Golden Fleece and the magic wand?

* * *

Once he found the cannister holding the tea leaves, Rumpelstiltskin didn't have any trouble, and even found a pretty white tea set in a cabinet, painted with a delicate deep blue pattern. He was an abysmal cook, but no one had ever complained about his tea-making skills. Perhaps other than spinning it was the one thing he was good at.

The tray he'd piled everything on was a bit heavy, but he could manage it. So Rumpelstiltskin pressed his back against the loose kitchen door, and backed out of the kitchen, and with as much nerve as he could muster, ascended the stairs. He tensed at every rattle of ceramic on the tray, considering it a blessing that he made it to the top of the stairs without suffering a heart attack.

Rumpelstiltskin followed the Dark One's directions, until he came to the wide-opened doors of the Great Room. He gingerly went up to the massive table in the middle of the room, lit mainly by the chandelier overhead, and set down the tray. He had begun to prepare his mistress's tea when she chirped, "I was starting to wonder how you'd get the tea up here. I assumed you'd be scurrying back and forth with the tea things one at a time."

He may have had only the basest understanding of letters, but he wasn't that stupid.

"No m'lady, I found a tray," he mumbled softly, focusing on his task.

"Oh," the Dark One didn't sound impressed by his logic. "Well, your duties will be rather simple, but I'm pleased you at least have some intellect to perform with. You will dust my collection and launder my clothing. And when I'm in the library, I will call you to fetch me paper and ink. I don't expect you to be a very good cook, but again, I don't eat much, must watch my figure you know, but I do _insist_ on having tea at mealtimes. Assuming you can brew it correctly, anyway. Two sugars and a splash of cream, if you pleeease..."

She drew out the 'please', and it occurred to Rumpelstiltskin she was looking for his name. Oh yeah. They didn't have a proper introduction, did they? "Rumpelstiltskin, m'lady," he braced himself as he stirred in the right amounts of sugar and cream.

"What?" A little snort escaped the Dark One. "Oh gods, how _do_ you spell it? _Can_ you spell it?"

Rumpelstiltskin almost said, _'Some people call me Rumple'_ , but instead he handed her the tea. It wasn't as if he hadn't heard every kind of insult aimed at his awkward name over the course of forty-nine years. Besides, he was her caretaker, a servant. If she wanted to call him Barbara, that was that.

The Dark One took a sip of her tea and he held his breath.

She knocked back the rest of the tea in an unladylike manner. " _Aahhh_ , not bad. Looks like I won't need to make you useful by skinning you for your pelt after all!"

She'd made the mistake of handing the cup back to the spinner then.

It slipped from his nerveless grip at the comment and fell to the floor with a crack that Rumpelstiltskin felt in the pit of his stomach. The Dark One raised an eyebrow as he dropped to his knees, ignoring the twinge in his ankle as he picked up the cup with trembling hands.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, m'lady, it slipped-Ah, it's...it's chipped, b-but...m-maybe I could fix it...?"

 _A chip?_ The missing triangle of ceramic was as big as his thumb! And he was worried about her not liking the tea? This was surely all the reason she needed to flay him, and she probably _would_ tan his miserable hide and wear it as a dress. Could a body be flayed but still alive? She said something about not killing him, didn't she? Oh gods. He couldn't remember-

"It's _just_ a cup."

He glanced up at the Dark One, who was looking at him like he was an idiot. _'Well...considering the circumstances...'_

She rolled her eyes and waved her little hand dismissively, "Downstairs there's a closet with mops, rags, buckets, etcetera, etcetera. You can start with cleaning the foyer, I expect the floor to be spotless. Otherwise, then I'll have my reason to skin. Now shoo!"

Rumpelstiltskin carefully (but a bit unnecessarily at this juncture,) put the "chipped" cup back on the table and obediently scurried away. He decided to continue focusing on he high points of this day: He was alive, the Dark One liked his tea, she didn't flay him for chipping her cup, and all she wanted him to do today was clean the foyer.

* * *

When his papa and the Dark One vanished, Bae had fallen on his knees where he stood. He may have screamed, but he didn't cry. No, his face felt wet, maybe he did cry. It was too fuzzy to remember clearly now.

It felt worse than when Papa told him Mama had died. Probably because he didn't remember much about Mama except she was taller than Papa, with black hair and light eyes (blue? green?), and was pretty when she wasn't scowling. The last clear memory he had of her was in the tavern sitting with a bunch of strange men, and taking him home. And snapping at Papa. A lot.

As far back as Bae could remember, his father was always there. He was always the one to look after him, always trying his best with the little they had. Papa was there when he was sick or hurt, always working into the night at his spinning wheel to earn a little more coin, slipping a bit more onto Bae's plate and a bit less on his when times grew lean and never saying anything about it. Bae felt proud when Papa showed him figure sums and read letters, and Papa was proud when Bae learned to tend the flock. Papa was always there for him, and Bae was always there for his Papa.

And...and now Papa _wasn't_ here...

Bae sat on his knees in the same spot for at least an hour, because dawn was breaking as the knights arrived. Morraine's mama had put her arms around him and her husband stood awkwardly to the side, shaking his head now and then. Everyone else retreated to their homes, and Bae couldn't remember the looks on their faces beyond no one willing to look him in the eye. It was like they were in shock, which was almost funny, because every one of the men and women who scorned Rumpelstiltskin as long as Bae had been alive hadn't lost a thing when _they_ called the Dark One for protection.

He didn't remember what the knights did; The big one who called Papa a coward said something about everyone peeking from behind their curtains today, and maybe something mean to Morraine's parents. And something about his father, something rude about him hiding even as his son was being taken away.

"He's not hiding," Bae heard himself mutter. "He's gone."

"Gone?" Hordor's confidence had wavered for a minute. "Gone where? Into hiding?"

"It's all our fault," Morraine's mama whispered to herself, absently petting Bae's head. "We asked the Dark One to save our baby, to stop the fighting. But we couldn't pay the price...no one wants to be the Dark One's slave...that poor man..."

Hordor loomed over the pitiful scene they made and sneered, "What are you nattering about woman? The Dark One was here, you said?"

Morraine's father stepped in then, and Bae tuned out what happened, but apparently his explanation didn't satisfy the knight. He had one man march up and grab at Morraine's mother, but suddenly the soldier was flung back ten feet in the air, crashing into a fence. Hordor reached out to grab Bae himself when Morraine's mother's arms fell away in shock, and he was thrown back as well. They jumped on their horses with some vague threat about returning with reinforcements before riding away, and Bae lost track of another hour.

Eventually, Morraine's parents left him there. At least they had stayed as long as they did, Bae thought. He picked himself up, feeling like he weighed twice as much as he did before, and dragged himself into their cottage.

Then his eyes fell on Papa's spinning wheel and he was on his knees again, sobbing. Perhaps another hour passed this way...until Bae ran out of tears, his eyes feeling scratchy and his head aching...and a plan slowly forming inside.

Well, more of a course of action than a plan, really.

Bae scrubbed his face with the back of his sleeve as he jumped up, grabbing at a rucksack that was really just two leather straps sewn to a rough sack his father had made for him a few years ago, when Bae liked to pretend he was a traveler exploring the woods. Bae stuffed it with food and tinder for the lantern, an old waterskin his father used when traveling to Longbourne to sell his wares, and other necessities. This included the meager savings stashed away in various hidey-holes in their cottage, and the spindle from Papa's wheel. (For luck, Bae decided, wanting to keep a piece of his papa with him.)

It took longer than he'd like to find a scrap of paper for a note, using a lump of charcoal to scrawl a message he planned to tack on Morraine's door for her parents: **THANK YOU, GOODBYE.**

He kept it simple because neither of them were good at reading, and there wasn't much to say to start with.

Bae threw on his ratty cloak, and grabbed the lantern his father had used to light their escape attempt two nights ago. (Was it only two days since this began? It felt like years.) He paused only to put the note on their neighbors' door before striking out, not caring what the people peeking out their windows and through cracked doors thought about the coward's son leaving them that morning.

It didn't matter where, it didn't matter how. But Baelfire, son of Rumpelstiltskin,-"the man who ran",-was going to find the Dark Castle. It didn't matter if he had to slay the Dark One herself, or make a deal with her.

_**All Bae knew for sure was that he was going to find his papa again.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's what's up with Bae...for now. And Belle's Dark Castle isn't Rumple's, obviously, because it isn't in the mountains. But hot chocolate chip cookies for whoever guesses what it is!  
> CHAPTER IV: Belle is hoping to get a reaction, Rumple's on his knees, and this isn't half as dirty as it sounds I swear!


	4. IV. Rough Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, unaware that his son has left their village, Rumpelstiltskin begins to clean the Dark Castle for his fearsome new mistress...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of like a two-part thing, it'll make more sense Friday, I dunno, I'm new at this! Happy Superbowl!

All one needed to clean a floor would be a mop or scrub brush, dipped in a bucket of soapy water. Unless you had a bum leg.

It was easy enough to manage a broom in one hand while Rumpelstiltskin held himself up with his staff with the other. He'd had practice with that when Milah had all but abandoned him...and still more when she really did. But the brown tiles were very different than the mismatched-material on his cottage floor...and using a mop to clean them?

No, he'd slip and crack his head open.

Rumpelstiltskin decided scrubbing on his hands and knees would be easier. Not better, mind, but easier. He found the cleaning supplies and dragged them out to the foyer. Then he found himself facing the big front doors.

There didn't appear to be a lock on them of any kind, no bar or bolts, and for one moment it was easy to believe he could just pull them back and slip away...

Everything in the spinner wanted to try. To escape this dark castle and it's evil mistress, and return home to his son. The Dark One said he had to come with her, there was never a discussion on how long, was there?

**No.**

No, all magic comes with a price. And this was his. The price was his life, for the lives of the children and people of the Frontlands, most importantly Baelfire. And besides that...Rumpelstiltskin had always been a coward for running. Now that he stopped to think, he was _too afraid to run_ from this mess.

_'What if the Dark One caught me?'_

_'What if he got lost outside of her estate?'_

_'What if she decided to take back her protection and the Ogres returned?'_

_'This is for my son,'_ Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes with a sigh, sinking to the floor by the sudsy bucket. _'This is for Bae's safety. No price is too high for that...'_

* * *

 

Belle sighed from her position on the stairs. (Thumblestiltskin, or whatever the hell his name was, seemed to be too lost in his head to notice.) After a half-minute of staring at the door, he dropped down and started scrubbing the floors with an old wooden-handled brush. Well it seemed he passed his first test by not running, though he was probably too wary to try yet.

That would change soon.

For all her darkness, Belle had never taken to wanton destruction. Never acquired a taste for murder. That was why she stumbled into her profession as a deal-maker, because she wasn't so mad that she couldn't be reasoned with, and had a vague sense of honor. She was not a scheming madwoman, regardless of public opinion.

As such, she wouldn't punish the little peasant until he did something worth punishing. _Really_ worth punishing, not just breaking an old cup. That was such a laughably minor offense (had he dropped the tea cup, _with her tea in it_ , then she might've killed him,) that Belle almost felt the need to pet his floofy head and coo 'it's okay', like she might comfort a puppy.

But it was important to establish she was in charge, and Belle sort of liked the idea of having a pre-broken-in manservant. He already expected penalties for mistakes, and knew when he screwed up, she'd let him have it.

_But just the cup?_

Who did he think she was, Cora?

Belle left the odd little man to his work and smokelessly teleported to her library to do some writing.

* * *

By noon, the spinner had scrubbed a little more than half of the floor of dust and grime Instead of brown, they turned out to be a stunning shade of gold stone, flecked with green and silver when cleaned. There had only been one interruption in the form of a fierce sneezing fit when he'd bumped the drapes (if given the choice, beating the dust out those would be next,) and the monotonous labor kept Rumpelstiltskin from dwelling on, well, everything else.

But the price for that little blessing were sore knees and hands when he staggered to his feet, stretching with a _snap!_ of his stiff back before trundling to the kitchens. He'd rolled his sleeves up before beginning, but the legs of his worn trousers were soaked and the lye soap made the skin of his hands feel tight.

He found the used tea things had been returned, washed and dried, to the kitchens. While the kettle boiled, Rumpelstiltskin examined the damaged teacup's rim. Aside from the "chip" there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Carrying it over to the sink, (earlier he had marveled over the indoor water pump, wondering how it worked,) Rumpelstiltskin filled it with water and checked the outside for leaks.

But since it still held liquid, the spinner set it off to the side, deciding to use it for himself. Aside from the broken rim, there was nothing keeping it from serving it's purpose as a teacup. It hadn't been washed, so Rumpelstiltskin guessed the Dark One expected him to throw it out.

With that in mind, he set a new cup on the tray (very determined NOT to break it no matter what happened,) and went up to the Great Room. It seemed darker in the middle of the day, probably because he'd been working in the sunlit kitchen and foyer and the windows here were cloaked in velvet drapes. But even if it was dark, Rumpelstiltskin could still see there was no Dark One at the table. And he wasn't sure how to feel about that, relieved...or worried...

Rumpelstiltskin stood in the doorway for a minute, wracking his brains to see if the Dark One left any instructions for where to leave the tea. Nothing came to mind, so he decided the safest thing to do would be put it exactly where she took her tea that morning and pray for the best. He'd also put together a small plate of sandwiches made from cold meat, cheese, and soft white bread he'd found around the kitchens. Hopefully that would do for lunch.

Returning to his scrubbing in the foyer, ignoring the way his knees protested or how the odd splinter from the old brush nipped his hand, Rumpelstiltskin considered what the hell he was supposed to do for dinner. The Dark One said she didn't eat or expect much, so maybe if he was careful and studied the contents of the pantry, he could avoid a punishment. The little sorceress hadn't incinerated him for breaking her tea cup, but he wasn't stupid. There were ways to punish without killing, the Dark One probably knew that better than anyone.

When he'd patted the last spot dry, Rumpelstiltskin stumbled to his feet, narrowly avoiding falling on the freshly cleaned floor. He also winced at the sensation of tense, cramping muscles all over; Nothing reminded you of your age like sitting on your hands and knees for hours on end, it would seem. But the floor was cleaned, just as the Dark One commanded.

The spinner limped back to the kitchens, more heavily than usual, and after poking around in the pantry, came up with ingredients for a stew. He had no idea what kind of meat it was (beef maybe?) but it was a hunk of cured protein too large to belong to a human. That was an indescribable relief. He sliced it into pieces and put them in a pot, chopping up some carrots and potatoes and throwing them in too. It was perhaps a bit flat-tasting, but probably better than anything he'd made in ages, if simply because of the quality ingredients.

He didn't dwell on that long, because Bae's face was swimming behind his eyelids and he didn't need to have a breakdown and fall into the fireplace. That would be both tragic, _and_ a tad humiliating.

The tea things hadn't reappeared. Rumpelstiltskin crept back into the Great Room to find them unused, the tea cold and sandwiches untouched. He washed them out in the kitchens with some dread building in his gut. The Dark One didn't tell him she'd be taking her tea anywhere else. The sandwich tray was untouched, and as it occurred to the spinner then that he hadn't eaten anything since...well since about noon yesterday, if he thought about it, so he nibbled on one nervously while waiting on the fresh kettle to boil.

* * *

When Belle breezed over the front stairs-she didn't teleport _everywhere_ she went,-and spotted a freshly-scrubbed foyer floor, the first thing that popped into her mind was: _'When did I clean in here?'_

Followed by: _'I forgot how pretty the tile was!'_

And then: _'Oh right. Caretaker. Where is Roughskins anyway?'_

Belle went into the Great Room to find no tea set on the table. She had returned it to the kitchens on a whim, but had quite forgotten about the man since he wasn't weeping excessively or bemoaning his fate aloud. Not that she could hear desperate suffering, (again, regardless of public opinion,) but hearing someone wail was much easier than hearing someone working quietly.

She half-hoped the man had escaped so she could have some entertainment in seeing how he managed it and then re-capturing her prize. She also half-hoped he was just holed up somewhere instead, because he made a _fine_ cup of tea and it would be a shame to chop his hands off.

Belle was just starting to weigh her options when he shuffled in, freezing like a rabbit spotting a hawk at her presence. Her little peasant blinked and turned down to look at the tray, clearing his throat-twice,-before murmuring, "I-I wasn't sure y-you'd be here, m'lady, y-you never collected the lunch I left..."

Oh yeah.

"Oh yeah," Belle waved her hand, hopping up on the edge of her table. "I was busy in the library. I'll show you where that is tomorrow. If I'm not here, I'm up there, and if I'm neither, then I'm in my tower. Ooh! Which reminds be; **Don't go in my tower**."

"Y-yes m'lady," he set the tea tray down before the unbroken cup could rattle off it. Belle made a note to not snap so much at Rumplebumple. He was obedient enough, and harassing him too much while he worked would just make for more unnecessarily broken objects.

"Sooo...what's on the menu?" she picked up the small, steamy bowl curiously while the peasant made her a cup of tea. (Two sugars...and a splash of cream, _good_.)

"Ah, st-stew, m'lady."

 ** _"_** St-stew, huh?" Belle scooped up some with the silver spoon, ignoring etiquette and remaining seated on the table. "Well it doesn't smell poisonous," she swallowed the spoonful.

She fully noticed the new caretaker flinch like he was expecting the stew to be dumped over his head. It was flat and the vegetables were still a little hard, but it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever eaten. Which was an atrocity called Thousand-Year-Old Viper's Eggs...which was just as nasty as it sounded.

"You can stop flinching now Frumpledbiscuits, er, Rubblebuttons, no, oh _gods be damned,_ what is it again?"

"Um...Rumpelstiltskin," he repeated timidly, hesistating. "If...if it pleases you, m'lady, you could...you could call me Rumple..."

" _Rrrrrrrrrrumplestiltskin!_ " Belle trilled, and since it sounded like a name belonging to a character in a play, she waved around a bit theatrically. "Yeah. That'll never stick in my head. So, _Rumple,_ I'll show you to your room now and you can continue playing maid tomorrow. C'mon!"

She hopped off the table and beckoned him with a finger as she waltzed out the room. Belle listened as he hobbled behind her, rushing to keep up with her pace, and headed back to the corridor leading to the kitchens. She opened one door and turned down another long corridor that was lit sporadically by torches, and stopped at one wooden door with a metal grate. The Dark One had to wait a bit for him to catch up, and she smiled at him.

He wouldn't look her in the eyes, and that amused Belle almost as much as she anticipated his next reaction.

"Here you are!" she chirped, opening the door and put a hand between his shoulder blades to guide him forwards. "Your room."

The "room" was of course, a dungeon cell. But room sounded nicer. There was a wooden bench to sleep on, a chamber pot in the opposite corner, a small, barred window at the top of the outer wall, and nothing else. Yes. Room sounded nicer. If it were Belle being tossed in her, she'd be indignant and shocked, as would any ordinary person.

And a look of disbelief crossed his thin face...for a moment.

Then it settled into resignation, and he hobbled over the threshold, not even giving Belle the pleasure of pushing him inside. Not even a parting word or sigh. With a bit of frustration, Belle slammed the door shut and stood there for a minute, listening to...

Nothing. Not a peep.

Belle huffed and stormed back up to the Great Room, not caring if she looked like a child who's trick had been spoiled. (Well in a way, it had...) She plopped in her chair with her teacup and settled in to brood, sipping at the perfectly prepared brew.

Rumpelstiltskin was quiet, obedient, cowed-and _boring._ She'd really been hoping to get some fun out taking on a servant, that's why she didn't care who showed up. Just somebody to have around, give a scare to when she felt impish, and, of course, make her tea. So far Rumbledethumps was a disappointment on two of the three fronts.

"He's lucky he makes good tea..." she huffed, watching the pale steam curl in the air...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only got the loosest understanding of Season 1, and like hell I understand the timeline, but I think Rumple made Charming a prince while Belle was on his payroll (so to speak,) if Emma and Hook's Excellent Adventure is to be believed. So I'll be trying to work in some of that soon, because what irks me about DO!Belle fics is we never see how things work with a tiny Australian sorceress differs from a snarky Scot.  
> Chapter V: In which Belle gets bored terrorizing her peasant, until SOMEBODY breaks in...


	5. V. "Every action..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle brought her new caretaker to his "room" in the dungeon, but is finding their arrangement to be...displeasing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This laugh I keep mentioning Belle having isn't Rumple's imp laugh. This DO!Belle is a character I layered over our darling little bookworm made from Lacey and these two Emilie De Ravin characters: Hierophant [Operation: Endgame] and Cururpira [Beastmaster]. It's this adorable little laugh that's like "I think you're cute and funny, but I'd love to watch your bleed to death."  
> 

Despite not getting any sleep the night before, or much sleep at all night before that, Rumpelstiltskin didn't feel tired.

If his room were half it's size larger, it would be as big as his cottage. The spinner wasn't sure how to feel about that. Four bare walls, broken by the door, and a three-foot window set to high in the wall to see anything but the sky. There was no comfortable position on the bench, but lying on his belly twisted his neck even when he folded his arms as a pillow, and lying on his side hurt his bony shoulder and hip. So he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

It was better than looking at the rest of the room.

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been expecting a fine room with plastered walls and plush carpeting. His expectations ended at a bed and a roof over his head. Castles usually had servants quarters, didn't they?

Instead he was languishing in a damp dungeon that smelled slightly sour, with a lingering damp chill that made water bead up along the walls in some places. He was actually rather surprised to be provided with a chamber pot and bench/bed, half expecting to bed down in moldy straw and chose a corner for his business. Not that he was impressed because at the end of the day it was still a bowl to piss in and a hard surface only softer than stone by the fact that it was wooden.

Rumpelstiltskin was too tired to sleep, if that was possible, strung-out and worried. Too tired to even feel bitter towards whoever in the village called on the Dark One, but didn't pay the price for _their_ service. Now they were safe and sound at home, enjoying the benefits of the village coward's sacrifice and probably relieved to be relieved of two problems in one fell swoop: The Seventh Ogre War, and the most pathetic excuse for a man in their midst.

But Bae was safe. And all the other innocent children the Duke would have trampled underfoot by Ogres and retreating officers, all the young girls that could grow into young woman unharmed, villagers like Morraine's parents would have their children returned. For better or worse. That was all worth this horrid "room", a demonic mistress, and whatever else would come in the morning. If only he could get his nerves to believe that-

The door swinging open was a bit of a shock, and Rumpelstiltskin very nearly fell of his "bed" at it.

No giggling mistress poked her head in, but Rumpelstiltskin was beginning to understand that the castle was at least partly enchanted. If the big doors swung open on their own when approached, then it would go to reason that a cell door could be set to open at an appointed time. Dawn, it would seem.

He had made it twenty-four hours in the Dark Castle.

* * *

Belle sat curled sideways in her big chair in the Great Room,-back against one arm, feet up on the other,-with a book propped up on her drawn-up knees.

Her hair was piled up atop her head, with reddish brown wisps curling free into her face. Her tight leather jerkin today was black instead of brown, the plunging neckline of the black-and-white striped undershirt drawing the eye to the valley of her small breasts. Her full skirts were made from shimmering gold silk with irregular patches of red floral lace sewn on with ink-black thread. Wiggling the toes she'd painted a sunny yellow to match her skirt, Belle smiled with saccharine sweetness at the mouse of a man scurrying into her lair.

"Good morning!" she chirped, putting her book down on the table. "I see you lasted through the night, excellent!"

She watched closely for any anger or resentment, but found...nothing. In fact, it was actually rather rare for her caretaker to look at her for more than a wary glance. Belle kept one eye on his preparation of her tea as she cut a fork into the odd little dish, egg yolk oozing out.

"Might I ask what sort of peasanty fare this is, Robinstickpins?" Belle asked, unable to resist mispronouncing his awkward name again.

Setting her cup and saucer near the plate, her little servant furrowed his brow. "Its...it's eggs-in-a-basket, m'lady..." he didn't correct her "mistake", but did fidget with his fingers in a twisting motion. "If you don't like it, m'lady, I-I could make something different?"

Belle examined the bit of egg-and-toast on the end of her fork, gooey golden substance dipping off. It didn't look half bad, a thick piece of toast with a circle cut out the middle, a sunny-side-up egg cooked inside it. The toasted circles sat on the side of her plate, along with a portion of crispy potato wedges generously seasoned with salt and pepper.

"I don't care for raw egg," she wrinkled her nose, pushing it away with one finger like it was toxic. "Get rid of it, and bring me something properly cooked, hmm?"

Rumpelstiltskin licked his dry lips and nodded, obediently returning to the kitchen with her plate.

Belle sighed, picking up her teacup. Her assessment after yesterday seemed correct: He was a puppy. One dropped in a puddle. Sad, bedraggled, and positively helpless. Most anyone else would've _said something_ when told to return a perfectly good plate of food to the kitchen. Hell, "yes m'lady" would've sufficed. She should have taken some soft-headed boy who thought he stood a chance at defeating the beast, it would have been more entertaining thwarting murder attempts than watching this crippled milquetoast around.

He came back a good ten minutes later with sausage and scrambled eggs and two triangles of toast spread with butter. Belle studied him again as she nibbled on her toast, without thanking him. She took her time in polishing off her breakfast, sipping at her cup of tea before looking up at her caretaker. (He'd stood there, head bowed, the whole time.)

"I'll show you to the library," she stood up and tucked her book under one arm, holding her cup in the other. "Which I'm trusting you to care for, and not ruin a single page in, and from there you can go anywhere in the castle. Unless the door is locked. And my tower. What did I say about the tower?"

"To not go in there, m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin replied, adjusting his grip on the staff.

 _M'lady_ again. Belle rolled her eyes and beckoned the poor lamb after her, listening to the _step-clack step, step-clack step_ he made limping in step with her. The man wasn't even going to ask her name, was he? That was probably for the best, (names have power,) but this constant m'lady'ing was going to get on her nerves quickly, she could tell.

It was a reminder of things best left forgotten...

* * *

The Dark One had always been spoken of as powerful and cunning. Rumpelstiltskin had heard a few whispers about how wise the Dark One was, but was usually worried over more pressing concerns-taxes, trade, food,-too pay much mind to them. But seeing the Dark Castle's library for himself made him believe there wasn't a thing under the sun the Dark One didn't know.

It was massive.

Row upon row of enormous bookshelves, holding more books than Rumpelstiltskin thought existed, within a room as wide as the Great Room and half again as long. One long wall was covered with plush dark drapes over the windows, and the entrance was two huge doors with big curving gold handles, and a pale stone staircase leading down to the floor. The room was lit by the odd sconce holding an eerily burning candle, providing dim light in favor of shunning the sunlight. Comfortable chairs and the odd couch were scattered around for sitting, a few sturdy tables with books stacked on them as well here and there, and the Dark One led him to a small clear space nearer to the window-wall, where a large walnut writing desk was set up with sheets of paper and ink quills.

"I've a store room of paper near the cleaning closet," she said, perching herself in the chair in front of the desk, a candelabra flickering to life for extra lighting. "You will bring me the paper, or ink, or tea, when I call for it. Otherwise, just make sure the candles don't drip wax and sweep up. That's probably about all you can do in here. Now leave me to my work!"

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at the piles of books on the tables. He'd been one of perhaps a score of villagers that could read, and a half-dozen that could read more than his own name. Or perhaps it was because of his name that he was more adept at it than others. It was one of the spinsters who took him in that had taught him, though Arachne had always told Charlotte it was a waste of time. Arachne couldn't read and was too stubborn to learn how. Rumpelstiltskin had never had much practice with it, it looked like that reading would come in handy now. Perhaps he could sort those misplaced books later...?

"Rumpelstiltskin."

The spinner's attention snapped back to the present and he paled at the cold glare the Dark One leveled him with, toying with a very sharp looking letter opener.

"Did I _not say_ to leave me to my work?" she asked dangerously low. "Perhaps you aren't as intelligent as I assumed you were. That means you should go take up space in another part of my castle, preferably while cleaning that space, and leave me. **Now**."

"I-I-I w-was-I'm sorry m'lady, I w-was just-"

" ** _What_ ** did **_I_ ** say?"

"T-that you had work to do, m'lady, a-and go to work. P-pardon me, m'lady, I was-I just-I'll go," Rumpelstiltskin swallowed and darted away as fast as his shattered ankle allowed.

When he had first returned home with this ankle, Milah had been furious. After a period of about a week, she had cooled to mild annoyance. Because he may be shamed and crippled, but he wasn't exactly helpless and he could still ply his trade as a spinner. For a time he thought she may come to see why he did it, maybe he would explain the whole story of what his father had done to him as a child, why he couldn't let Baelfire go without a father. Then one of the village women who had been Milah's friend lost her husband at the front.

Everyone flocked to the new widow with bits of food they could spare and offers of support and kindness, but Milah had been rebuked and her friend said the most unfriendly things. Milah had been accustomed to being a popular, well-liked person, the sort she couldn't be when tied to the village coward. This treatment made her bitter and hateful, and towards the end of those long seven years Milah didn't hesitate to raise a hand to him when Bae wasn't watching.

Any attempt to do something kind for Milah was met with spite, and any attempt to offer her help with chores was met with as venom as when he didn't do anything to help her. Just like the Dark One, sometimes she purposely set him up to fail: Once, Milah had complained about how little they'd had to eat when Bae was very young, probably two or three. Rumpelstiltskin had managed, more by luck, to catch a rabbit he'd found in the garden. Milah had complained all while it was cooking about how small it was, and how of course a coward like he could only kill a tiny bunny with his staff instead of bringing home any useful game.

It was with more than a little weariness that Rumpelstitlskin realized he was the best suited for this situation: No one else in the village had as much experience with a strong-willed woman willing to lash out for the sake of sadistic fun.

* * *

For a short time, Belle had enjoyed making Rumpelstiltskin jump and run away. It was shockingly easy in that first week, he had no spine at all and sometimes it looked like he'd crumple if a stiff breeze blew into him.

But Belle quickly found that the more she taunted, the quieter Rumpelstiltskin became. The more she pushed, the more he backed away. The only time he would stand in the same room as her for a notable length of time was when she waited on him in the Great Room to bring her meals, and that was because he didn't dare leave without permission but was too frightened to ask for it. What had initially amused her as a reaction of fear had quickly become...pitiable.

At three weeks in, Rumpelstiltskin had given up on talking to her entirely. She'd never had a chance to try eggs-in-a-basket because he never made it again, and she only received two or three word replies when speaking to him. Usually just "yes m'lady" and "no m'lady".

It pleased the Darkness in Belle to have a thoroughly submissive manservant at her beck and call. And that's what she set herself up for, wasn't it? Thinly-veiled insults to his intelligence and mocking his every action like it was inadequate, when in reality, he was a good worker.

Another part of her noticed everything from the ratty blood-stained bandages tied around his hands, to the unkempt, silvery beard that was turning the lower half of his face into a wiry mess. Bits of fireplace ash and dust and cobwebs stuck to his threadbare clothes, and the right knee of his trousers was developing a sizeable hole, enough that she could see the bruises purpling his knees from kneeling on them as he scrubbed. He looked thinner, and she wondered from time to time if he was eating anything, and he looked so...fragile.

And for a while, there was an unexpected novelty in having someone under the same roof as her for reasons other than business. When he slowly started organizing her books, he had asked her why the drapes were always closed over the windows.

"The sunlight yellows the pages and fades the ink. It's better to keep the curtains drawn shut," she explained, curled up on a chaise lounge reading from her favored candelabra's soft glow.

Something like a breath of laughter huffed through Rumpelstiltskin's nose, and a smile may have even twitched across his thin lips. "What's so funny?" Belle turned to him face him as he stirred the sugar in her tea cup.

"Ah, n-nothing m'lady, I..." he paused, looking down at his feet. "I guess it's j-just...does it matter if the ink fades when you can't see it?"

"You are aware that that's what I have candles for?" Belle sniffed, turning back to her book. "Then again, I imagine there wasn't much need for such things in that little rat hole of a village."

"I...n-no m'lady, not really," the crippled peasant said with a weary sigh Belle had missed at the time, carefully placing her teacup on a nearby end table before going off somewhere.

It was the first conversation she'd ever had with him. And the last.

Belle had given up waiting on Rumpelstiltskin to escape, or looking for an excuse to punish him, because he was a dutiful caretaker. The main rooms were spotless, the rugs and drapes beaten dust-free, and her collection of trinkets cleaned. Her clothing was returned to her chambers, (which was really more of a closet and dressing room since she didn't sleep,) washed and folded, from her gowns to her underthings. And she couldn't imagine that was easy for a shy man, touching a ladies delicates.

He got an impressive amount of work done while avoiding here.

Perhaps Belle wasn't as sharp as the realm gave her credit for, because it was clear that Rumpelstiltskin would serve her until his dying day so she never had a reason to revoke their deal.

But Belle was beginning to wonder just far off his dying day was at this rate...

It was while the Dark One was mired in these gloomy thoughts that she missed the slight tingle of her magical barriers in her castle. When she did pick up on it, she recognized it immediately though: A foreign presence in the Dark Castle.

* * *

The foyer was cleaned completely in his second day, and Rumpelstiltskin tackled the Great Room next. (He shook out the drapes first this time, suffering two massive sneezing fits and had needed to dust _himself_ off when he finished that.) He was dusting off the knick-knacks on the pedestals, and hesitated in front of a...glass stick? Some type of tool? Who knew with the Dark One-

"CAREFUL!"

"AHH!" Rumpelstiltskin spun around so quickly his bad ankle gave and he found himself on his ass, looking up at the Dark One.

She grinned down at the spinner at her feet. "Those are fairy wands, _verrry_ powerful magic. I'd hate to see you turned into a mouse. Well, in a more literal sense than usual."

The Dark One liked to frighten him that way in the first few days, usually followed by laughing at him. He was almost happy that the Dark Castle was in such a sorry state, because the monumental task of cleaning gave him a reason to avoid her unless it was absolutely necessary. That was another tactic that worked with Milah: She wouldn't snarl so much if he was spinning at the wheel and selling his wares, because that meant he was making money.

Although...there were these instances were it seemed the Dark One wasn't necessarily being cruel like Milah. It was more like...more like she didn't know what to do with him. Or maybe he was going mad. He'd heard tales of prisoners that convinced themselves their captors were good to them, when in reality they'd gone mad with terror.

This afternoon was only notable for the Dark One dismissing him from her library instead of watching him squirm as she ate lunch. (He was never sure if he was expected to leave after serving, or stay there to collect the tray when she was done...and he didn't _dare_ ask.) He scurried back to the Great Room, where he had been dusting the pedestals to prevent another overwhelming layer of dust. He passed by a shiny brass urn (he'd spent a good half-hour polishing it to that shine,) and flinched at his hazy reflection.

Would Bae would recognize his papa now?

The spinner trudged to the Great Room, trying to put that thought out of his head. But when he entered the room, that thought went out of his head along with every other, and he froze in the doorway.

**There was a man in the Great Room.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I've named the spinster-spinners Charlotte and Arachne in my head-cannon. Prizes for who guesses why Charlotte is the literate one.  
> Also, the working titles for Chapter IV-V would have made the quote "Every action has an equal...and opposite reaction." But "Rough Start" sounded better for...a rough start. So here I am.  
> Chapter VI: Belle breaks open that box of torture-toys, Rumpelstiltskin breaks character, and a certain fairy notices certain things...


	6. VI. The Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, after three weeks of unease in the Dark Castle, Rumpelstiltskin finds someone has broken into the Great Room...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To go all hipster here, the commercial showiness of Valentines Day bothers me. That you need one day a year to show off to other people how much you love someone seems contradictory. My dad says something that stuck with me once: "It takes more guts just to come home every day."  
> On that philosophical note, here's chapter VI, complete with bows and arrows! Happy Valentines Day!

The drapes that Rumpelstiltskin had left open so he could see while dusting revealed the dirty windows he had only started cleaning. One of those windows was open, with a hooded man in a dark green tunic silently padding across the room to the dispay stand where his mistress kept her fairy wand. He wasn't sure if he was more concerned about the Dark One catching this man, or if he was more worried about what would happen should the man touch the wand.

Either way, Rumpelstiltskin decided the man deserved a chance to get away while he still had one: "Hey! D-don't do that!"

The stranger-a fellow with a trimmed dark beard that made the spinner conscious of the mess on his face,-turned, dark eyes flashing. Rumpelstiltskin backed up so fast he nearly tripped over his staff, throwing his free hand up in a surrendering motion. "E-easy there, easy! You shouldn't be here, hurry, leave!"

"Are you the Dark One?" the stranger narrowed his eyes.

"Me? No!" What a ridiculous notion that was. "No, no, she's up..." the spinner frowned, glancing from the man to the wand. "L-look, look, it doesn't matter what you're doing here, j-just leave. Go on, go!"

"You seem like a good man," the stranger shook his head. "But I can't do that-"

"Oh but there was some good advice you just ignored!"

There was a swirl of glittery golden smoke and a tittering giggle, and suddenly the Dark One stood in front of Rumpelstiltskin with her hands on her hips.

Her hair was piled up in it's customary fashion, and she wagged a finger at the intruder like he was a child sneaking into the cookie jar. Her tight leather jerkin was black today, the scraps of fabric consisting of her undershirt was blue velvet on her right breast and gold silk on the left, trimmed with shimmering white lace on the edges. The same materials made up her diamond-patterned skirt, which was fitted today, clinging to her hips and would've been difficult to walk in if it weren't for the slit running up from the knee-length hem halfway up her gleaming white thigh.

"For shame," she tutted, bouncing forward on her toes. "Shame, shame, shame! You should know better than breaking into the Dark Castle!"

The stranger raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly, picking up the wand. "Perhaps. But I'm not particularly worried about that..." he coolly slid the wand into his quiver and notched an arrow to the bow, the confident smile never leaving his face. "Because I came prepared, Dark One. An arrow fired from this bow always hits it's mark."

"Does it?" The Dark One bit her lip coyly, making like she was about to step forward.

Suddenly she vanished in a breeze, appearing across the room. The stranger let his arrow fly and it cut through the air directly towards the castle's mistress. The Dark One vanished just before it touched her, reappearing near the windows with an amused smile on her face. But the arrow spun around in the air, zinging back around-

_And plunged into her heart._

Rumpelstiltskin gripped his staff tighter and hurried forward as a look of shock crossed his mistress's delicate features, clutching at the arrow embedded in her chest. He heard the stranger say, "Don't you just love magic?" and stride past the wounded Dark One.

It was hard to describe how he felt. On the one hand, he had no love for the Dark One and the realm might be better off without her, but on the other hand, she hadn't exactly done anything to the man, and Rumpelstiltskin didn't feel comfortable watching her die on her own floors...

Only...the Dark One didn't fall to the floor.

As the stranger walked by her, the Dark One was suddenly in front of him and the open window, giggling as she pulled the arrow out her chest.

"Yes I do!" she crowed, making the arrow vanish in a cloud of smoke. "But all magic comes with a price! And unfortunately for you..."

The intruder finally had the sense to look horrified, as the Dark One's small hand fisted the front of his shirt and she gave him a slow, sinister smile. " **Your price is me."**

They vanished in a golden swirl, and Rumpelstiltskin suddenly felt great pity for the man, thief or not.

* * *

An hour or two filled with the screams of a torture victim was an hour or two too many. Rumpelstiltskin had _attempted_ to return to washing the grimy windows, disheartened that he could only clean as high as he could reach...which wasn't very high at all.

He recalled seeing a long pole with the end broken off in the cleaning closet downstairs. Perhaps if he tied a rag to the end of it, he could reach the tops of the windows?

Assuming his hands would quite shaking long enough to cooperate. Three weeks of being soaked in cold soapy water, scraping against stone and wood, had taken their toll on his hands. He'd wrapped them with clean dishrags in an effort to bandage them, but his skin was still cracked and raw. If he were home, he would use a bit of homemade salve to soften and protect the skin. But he wasn't at home, was he? If he were home, there wouldn't be those agonized screams ringing through the drafty halls of a bleak castle.

It was more than a little disconcerting when they suddenly stopped.

Rumpelstiltskin let his wet rag plop back into the bucket and wiped his hand dry on the front of his tunic. He rocked back on the heel of his good foot, cautiously watching the Dark One as she came in, untying the strings of a bloody apron.

Gods, what had she been _doing_ to that man?

"I need another apron," she said, as easily as asking for lunch.

"Th-they...they're on the line," Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. It wasn't a lie, he'd tried going into the side yard to hang the laundry out to dry to unsuccessfully escape those screams earlier. "Dr-drying. It's going to be awhile."

"Mm...fine," she sighed, peeling off the thick gloves too. Her dress was blood-free, which was disturbing because the gloves and apron were well splattered. "Clean that one too, I'll be back."

Rumpelstiltskin licked his dry lips. He wasn't sure if the man could be forgiven for shooting at the owner of the castle he'd broken into, but...

"Wh-why are you doing this, m'lady?"

"Why?" she whirled around, glaring at him. "Why not?"

"He said he needed the wand, right? W-well why don't you make a deal with him for it? Isn't that what you do?"

"So it is!" she snapped. "But he tried to steal, from me! The Dark One! And that's just not done! Bad manners aside, everyone knows that if you steal from the Dark One, you get skinned alive!"

The spinner drew his brows together, he had never heard such a thing. "I have never heard of such a thing."

Oh crap, he said it aloud too.

The Dark One paused, pursing her lips and for a terrifying minute, Rumpelstiltskin thought she'd put him in the dungeons too on the grounds of insolence.

"Well you have now," she sniffed, flouncing out the room like that was the end of the argument.

Rumpelstiltskin fidgeted with his hands, staring from the big doors that slammed shut behind the Dark One, to the small side door. Logically, he should keep his head down and, well, not think at all, he knew that. But...but at the same time...

He wasn't sure where this mad idea was coming from.

Whether it was from hunger from one too many skipped meals, the fact that he was starting to feel poorly from sleeping in that damp, sour dungeon, or that the Dark One just went a little too far this time. But whatever the reason for this flicker of madness...Rumpelstiltskin had an idea, and he was rather shocked, ten minutes after the Dark One left him in the Great Room alone, to find himself acting upon it.

* * *

Robin of Locksley was a tall, fair-haired man with blue eyes and broad shoulders. Though at the moment, he was a smaller, dark-eyed man with a black beard and dark hair to match. It was a magic pendant that altered his appearance, and somehow the Dark One missed it when she was torturing him earlier. Or maybe she didn't care.

'Probably the second,' he decided. She seemed rather fixated on _how_ he snuck onto her estate without alerting her.

The thief wasn't sure how long the Dark One had left him there, strung up by his wrists in chains, his feet barely resting on the floor. Minutes? Hours? The blood all over his back and chest was cold now, and sticky. All he knew was when the door creaked open, he was fully expecting Torture Round Two, and not the bedraggled servant he _really_ should have listened to in the first place.

"Did...did she send you into finish he job?" Robin Hood tried for a laugh, but it was more of a wheeze than anything.

The Dark One's servant shook his head, sending his messy hair into an even more tousled state. "N-no. Here, d-drink this."

He held up a cup to Robin's lips. The thief was never so glad to dribble water down his chin.

"I-I think I can understand why you didn't want to make a deal with the Dark One," the small man began timidly. "Th-that's why I'm here. I made a deal for the safety of my people, well, mostly my son. The price was serving the Dark One as a caretaker for the rest of my life, and n-no one else wanted to pay. Small loss to them, really. I'm the village coward, probably glad to see the back of me. Er, as it was..."

With Robin's brain functioning slightly better rehydrated, he nodded. "I see..."

The servant was a small man, maybe only a few inches taller than the Dark One. He was underfed and pale, dressed in filthy, threadbare rags, with an unshaven face that was really more of an untamed silver beard at this point. Robin sincerely hoped his limp was caused before he came to the Dark Castle. His voice was thin and shaky, like he was terribly frightened, (which he was,) and Robin detected some sort of brogue that was probably as thick as it was at the moment from fear.

So it was totally against reason that this skittish little man should reach up and unlock one of the manacles holding Robin's arms up.

"Wh-what are you...?" Robin's arm fell like a lead weight, quite numb and useless as the blood started to circulate properly again. He would have fallen if the servant hadn't been at his side to prop him up. "Ar-are you freeing me?"

The servant may have smiled under his wiry beard. " _Freeing_ you? No. No, I made a deal, see, with the Dark One. So long as I serve her, the Ogres leave my village and people alone. Letting prisoners out of their cells isn't exactly serving the Dark One, is it?"

Robin blinked.

"All I've done is bring you a drink. And I haven't unlocked your _chains_ , have I? Therefore _I_ haven't done anything wrong. But should I forget the keys and, say, _forget_ to lock the cell door behind me? Well I've been here for a while now, maybe I'm starting to get a little forgetful."

He pressed the key into Robin's free hand as soon as Robin regained his balance, and darted away without another word. The door didn't latch behind him.

Oh.

_Ohhh!_

"Thank you," Robin murmured, even though the brave servant was long gone. "For more than you know..."

* * *

Belle put a fresh apron on over her dress, (this one was a favorite, she like the colors, even if blue was a constant reminder of a certain jellyfish,) picked out some sharp things from her dungeon toy-box, and set to work trying to pry the secret from her tight-lipped prisoner.

_'What are you doing here?'_

_'Why are you trying to steal from me?'_

_'What is your name?'_

The live-skinning would come later, but first, Belle wanted her curiosity sated. She had wards up around her castle, even if the thief came in through the windows...he shouldn't have made it onto her property without her knowing it. Any time a bird so much as nested in a tree, Belle knew about it. This was a puzzle she needed answers to, immediately.

But _of course_ the thief wasn't there anymore.

" **RUMPELSTILTSKIN!!** "

She stormed into the Great Room where the peasant had fixed a rag or something to the end of a pole and was managing to clean the high windows, only to drop it with a clatter when she burst in, coming to a stop in front of him with hellfire burning in her eyes.

" _Where_ is he? _Why_ did _you_ free him?!"

Rumpelstiltskin was shaking like a leaf, but inhaled deeply and met her with brown eyes. His eyes reminded her of a doe caught in the sights of a hunter.

"I didn't free him m'lady-"

Belle jabbed her black-painted nail in the center of his chest. "LIAR! Did you forget that not only your life, but the fate of all the Frontlands rests on one condition? _You serve me_. How the hell does freeing my prisoners serve _me_?!"

"I-I didn't free him, m'lady," he licked his lips, turning so pale Belle almost thought he'd faint. "At no point did you say I couldn't go to the dungeons, and at no point did you say I couldn't bring him a drink. Should I forget to lock the prison d-door behind me, or perhaps he picked the locks, h-he is a thief...th-that's hardly freeing the prisoner."

Belle wanted to rip out his doe eyes. She wanted to cut out his tongue and stick it up his ass. She wanted to slit his throat and watch him die in a pool of blood. She wanted to slice open his belly and strangle him with his own intestines. She wanted to chop his head off and mount it on her gate as a warning to others. She wanted to kill him slowly until he begged her to crush his skull. Stupid-no, _clever_ ,-bastard!

"ARRRGH!" Belle stomped her foot. "IF YOU WEREN'T SO SMART I'D TURN YOU INTO A SNAIL AND CRUSH YOU!!"

Rumpelstiltskin was trying to make himself as small as possible now. His small reserve of courage had run dry, and he was busy looking every but at his raging mistress when his eyes fell on the wand display.

"Oh...oh _no_..."

Belle turned and she reached a point where her rage burned so hot it felt cold. "Oh _yes_!" she waved to the empty stand. "Seems he got away with a bit more than his life, eh? Well fine!"

She clamped a hand down on his shoulder and teleported them to the dungeons, shoving him down on the bench in his "room".

"You can sit your ass down here and wait!" Belle snarled. "I'm going to track down that thief, dig his heart out with a spoon, spit on his mangled corpse, **get my wand back** , and _then_ I'm coming back here to deal with you! Enjoy your vacation time!"

She vanished in such a rage that she simply blinked out the room, no smoke, leaving behind a terrified spinner who didn't stop shaking until she was long gone from the castle.

* * *

Nova was a young, pink fairy, with dreams of becoming a fairy-godmother...someday. Right now her job was retrieving fairy dust from the Dwarf mines, (a small portion was missing from last year's shipment, she had no idea where it spilled and who knew what that did!) and the Blue Fairy was probably right to barely trust her with that.

But one day, Nova, of all her sisters, noticed something that seemed rather important. The Frontlands had been embroiled for fifteen years in the latest Ogre War, (sixth? Seventh? History wasn't her forte,) on the edge of the civilized Enchanted Forest. That was why it was called "the Frontlands". The Duke was a terrible human being, even as a rather kind-hearted fairy Nova felt comfortable calling anyone who shipped 14-year-old kids off to war terrible.

The Blue Fairy had forbidden them from helping the people of the Frontlands after the Duke summoned her to heal his son when the war first started. The Duke was to give her his finest bull, but he withheld the beautiful snow-white creature and gave her a lesser animal instead. The Blue Fairy was outraged and declared that the Duke would have to finish his own war without their help. It seemed a bit unfair to _the people_ of the Frontlands, but Nova couldn't say anything about it.

She did come to the Blue Fairy and say, "Blue, did you notice the Frontlands are quiet lately? I mean, there was that war, and everybody was begging for help, but they've stopped all of a sudden, you know? What do you think happened?"

The Blue Fairy waved a dismissive hand. "Humans are capable of solving their own problems sometimes Nova. They probably resolved it, now, if you'll excuse me. I have some important business to attend to."

Nova watched her leader flutter away and wondered if her "no help" order still stood. Because a fairy named Aubergine had seen a boy in the Frontlands earlier that week praying for help in finding the Dark Castle, but didn't offer him guidance because of the Blue Fairy's decree. Nova may not be a fairy godmother (in training) yet, but she felt someone should do something about that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm...so it's not a very romantic chapter, is it?  
> Chapter VII: Belle tracks a thief, Rumple awaits his doom, and changes are in the wind.


	7. VII. The Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Rumpelstiltskin "didn't" let Robin Hood escape the Dark One, and a furious Belle locked him in his dungeon room while she tracked down the thief...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a Rolling Stones CD from, like 1964-1971 or somesuch, the early years? Didn't need to skip the CD once, but somewhere between "Paint It Black" and "Sympathy For the Devil" I decided The Stones were the unofficial band of The Dark One.  
> Then I decided "You Can't Always Get What You Want" was a good theme song for Dark One!Rumple, because reasons.

Belle's carriage was pulled by a team of coal-black horses, driven by her magic. She sat on the velvet seat with her legs crossed, her surprisingly plain greyish-green cloak thrown over her shoulders and pinned at her throat with a shiny jet broach shaped like a dragon. (A gift from Maleficent in return for providing the sleeping curse she put on King Stefan's bride...a bit of a premature gift, all things considered, but a lovely piece all the same.) As she sat, Belle stewed over what Rumpelstiltskin had done.

While she chewed him out for screwing up her...well generously it was an interrogation, less so a torture session, but either way, what gave him the right to let the thief go? What really infuriated the Dark One in Belle was that his argument of how he _didn't_ let the man get away _._ Because it was all sound. From a deal-maker standpoint, Belle could even appreciate the sneaky genius her caretaker was capable of.

_Ugh!_

_Why_ did he have to chose now to make his bloody stand?!

Belle wasn't entirely sure what to do with Rumpelstiltskin. On the one hand, because of how things went, and their deal in general, she couldn't reduce him to ashes. She might get away with turning him into something small and helpless for a week, a rat maybe, or a bunny. He'd probably be a soft, sandy-colored bunny that jumped at everything that moved...hmm...no, she couldn't focus on his punishment if he was too adorable. A rat it was, if she was going to transmogrify the man when she got back.

Unfortunately the thief had been making good time, so she couldn't get back to the castle yet. He must've had a horse, she'd tracked him for a full day at least and hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. They were in a different forest now, farther North and much thicker than her Marchland forest. A different territory. Grand...not only was she losing track of him, but she needed to ask for directions.

"Thanks _Rumpelstiltskin_ ," she muttered under her breath.

After awhile, a group of riders came into view. They were dressed in uniforms, and as the Dark One, Belle didn't much fear soldiers. She stopped the carriage and smiled out as the lead rider dismounted. This man was big and strong, perhaps handsome, but he nearly toppled off his horse. He righted himself, and Belle thought she saw a flask at his hip. So a drunken captain or a drunken sheriff?

The man swaggered forth and flashed what would have been a charming smile if it weren't so greasy. "Good day to you my lady, what brings you to my woods?"

Belle decided against getting out the carriage at that point. He might offer her a hand getting down. And Lord knew where _that_ had been! Instead, she leaned out the window on her elbows, smiling blandly at the man. "I'm in search of a thief. Perhaps you could help me, here, this is his bow. Does it look familiar to you?"

Although Belle was holding up the bow, the man only glanced at it briefly. His eyes lit with recognition, though, before they returned to sizing up her...oh...so a drunken _lecherous_ sheriff, then. Joy of joys.

"I know who you seek, my lady," he nodded, a slow smile curling on his lips. "A cunning scoundrel, he is, too. He has been a thorn in my side for ages, humiliating me, stealing the woman I love..."

Belle wished he'd have the decency to look higher than her cleavage when lying about lost love. Not that she believed it for a minute, but a little respect would get him further up a woman's skirts. Not that she'd be telling him that, the poor women in these woods needed as much protection as they could get from the good Sheriff.

She wasn't sure if it was because of that thought, or the way the Sheriff licked his lips just now, or because he was stupid enough not to realize he was speaking to the Dark One, but Belle's limited patience had run out. She pushed the carriage door open and smiled sweetly, extending her hand and making as if to get out.

"I don't believe I've made myself clear," she purred as the Sheriff predictably reached for her hand. "Tell me where the thief is..."

A trail of smoke wafted out of the Sheriff's mouth and into her hand, solidifying into a squirmy pink tongue. (Thank the gods she was wearing gloves.) The Sheriff's eyes opened wide and he clutched at his throat, making garbled attempts at speech without the proper organ's assistance, and Belle giggled.

"And you get this back! Or, y'know, I can start removing things lower next. Do we have a deal?"

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin had never been in his cell during the day. (He was too low to call it a room right now.) It was just as damp and depressing, only slightly better lit. The sun managed to bring the temperature up to a warm degree, which would have been nice, if it wasn't a dungeon cell furnished by wooden planks on a stone shelf and a tarnished chamber pot. Also, in the light, he could see some sort of dark algae...fungus...something, growing on the outside wall. Ew.

 _Why_ did he have to be brave?

Obviously he wasn't good at it, ergo the limp. It was a mad, insane idea, but apparently not entirely stupid because somehow his logic shielded him from the Dark One's immediate wrath. Which was good...but now he was left waiting on the Dark One to come back and turn him into a greasy stain on the floor. Or maybe she'd cut off one limb and leave it for him to clean up. Yes. That sounded like something she would do. He'd still be able to serve her that way. Oh and laugh, yes, she'd laugh at him while he mopped up the blood.

Oh gods...if he survived this, he would live in silent drudgery for the rest of his days. Maybe at some point is brain would rot and he'd become a soulless shell. Maybe he would get desperate and jump out a window?

No, that might void their deal. Besides, he was too much of a coward for the coward's way out...

* * *

It was late afternoon when Belle picked up the trail and stepped out the carriage to track the thief on foot.

The Sheriff of Nottingham seemed to realize she was the Dark One after she removed his tongue. ( _Aaand_ subsequently slapped him across the face with it, which made several of the other riders snicker.) And when she returned it, he was much more cooperative.

"The man you seek is Robin Hood! He hides out in Sherwood Forest! Please let me live Dark One, I didn't know it was you! Eek!"

Belle sighed wearily, coming to the crest of a hill.

Rumpelstiltskin was possible the meekest man she had ever met, quiet as a mouse and shaky as a leaf. But he was well-mannered, for a peasant, and while his clothes and face were appallingly filthy, he kept his hands clean when he served her meals. Even if he was annoyingly intelligent. Meeting people like the Sheriff of Nottingham _really_ highlighted the good in her caretaker. Not quite enough to quell her rage-

**There!**

Robin Hood (and a white horse, aha!) was standing a ways off in a valley by a cart-worn road. Belle had brought along his own bow and arrow, and drawing back on the bowstring, she allowed herself a smug little smile. There was a poetic justice in killing him with his own weapon that appealed to Belle. Clearly this man was only slightly brighter than the Sheriff, because he should have just made a deal for the damned wand.

Belle was lining up her shot when a cart rumbled up. Oh crumbs he was waiting on someone, wasn't he? Belle lowered the arrow and squinted at the body laying on the back of the cart. It wasn't a dead woman, wasn't it? She was chalk-white and very still, she could have been dead...no! No she just coughed a sickly, consumptive cough...

Okay, what the hell was going on?

Belle's natural curiosity won out over the Darkness, and she watched as Robin Hood waved the wand over the woman. Her color returned and she gave a clear gasp, looking up at the thief like he'd hung the stars. This must've been the woman the Sheriff was talking about. Hmm. Well, a thief seemed to be a better option than a drunkard, but it didn't matter.

Belle was ready to shoot the thief with one of his own arrows again when he helped the woman up...and the blankets fell away...

And good lord she was _pregnant_.

The bow and arrow fell down again and Belle very nearly dropped them altogether. "Well just... _shit_..."

Instead of being a thieving son of a bitch that stole from the Dark One, Robin Hood turns out to be a thieving son of a bitch that stole from the Dark One to save his heavily pregnant wife. It was a slight difference...but it was enough to make Belle feel...something like doubt, was it? Three hundred years as the Dark One had made her feel detached from most emotions. It took her a minute to register this as mild guilt.

And she left her caretaker locked in a dungeon for nearly two days, didn't she?

Belle teleported into the dungeon corridor of the Dark Castle, deciding Robin Hood could get off easy. Maybe she'd get him to steal something for her later...but for now, she had a caretaker to take care of.

Hopefully he wasn't dead, because that would be extremely, tragically awkward.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin didn't mind being hungry. Well, he was used to hunger pains. To be honest, the last solid meal he'd eaten was the eggs-in-a-basket his mistress turned down the first time he'd made breakfast for her. It was a dish that evoked bittersweet memories for the spinner. It had always been his favorite way to eat eggs, but it also reminded him of his father. He had come to hate his father...but at the same time he resisted dwelling on Malcolm because it made him feel like a frightened little boy again.

Not to mention the entire Neverland fiasco had given him a fear of heights, magic, and the only good to come out of it was two little old ladies who were kind enough to give a trade and a bit of love to a boy they had no relation to...

His mind had trouble concentrating on anything at the moment. That was the issue.

It wasn't so much the hunger that was getting to Rumpelstiltskin, trapped in the dungeon for almost two days. But he was really thirsty. He knew humans could survive for months without food, in a worst case scenario...but he was running the risk of death by dehydration. His head felt achy and his lips like dry paper. It didn't help that he'd started developing a wet cough and a runny nose the day the thief appeared, which had only gotten worse down here and exacerbated his dehydration.

Late in the evening, when he could see the sky was light but the shadows were darkening in his cell, the door opened to his cell. The spinner had long given up on leaving the somewhat comfortable position he'd found with his back against the wall, sitting on his bench. At first he thought he might've been hallucinating, but then the Dark One sat down on the far end of the bench and studied the bow she was carrying.

"So I found Robin Hood, that was the thief's name, by the way, and tracked him down to Sherwood Forest. And I had him in my sights when this cart pulled up. And as it turns out...well, long story short, I didn't get the wand back, but I figured a magic bow is more useful anyway. I'll consider it a deal. Besides, there's likely to be some noble who can't shoot worth a damn in my near future who wants to assassinate someone. Wouldn't be the first time..."

Rumpelstiltskin blinked at her slowly. His eyelids felt dry.

The Dark One made the bow vanish. And then after looking at him for a long second, or maybe a minute, she fluttered her fingers and summoned up a tin cup of water.

"Drink something, please. You look like a mummy with a bad beard."

Rumpelstiltskin could agree with that and obediently took the cup. Years of poverty had taught him not to wolf down food when it was presented after a long period of hunger, and not to guzzle down water when he was dehydrated. He took slow sips, which seemed to please the Dark One, and he idly wondered if the water was poisoned. Or enchanted. Maybe cursed?

The Dark One crossed her ankles primly, pursing her glossy white lips and busily smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt. "I'm going to ask you three questions Rumpelstiltskin. I want an honest answer to all three. Will you answer them?"

With his tongue feeling less like a dry, dead slug in his mouth, and a little more energy, Rumpelstiltskin's powers of reasoning returned. He didn't see any harm in answering questions as there was nothing to hide. So he nodded.

"Do you eat everyday? And I don't mean a crust of bread here or there, I mean off a plate, sitting at a table."

Well...usually he did eat a bit of whatever he made for the Dark One's supper. Lately he wasn't feeling hungry at all so he only managed a few bites. And he suspected that this answer wouldn't please the Dark One at all.

"I-I usually eat supper, m'lady," he began, twisting the cup in his hands. "Sometimes a bit of breakfast."

"Sometimes and usually?" she arched a brow. "You know, I may be the Dark One, and quite...demanding at times, I admit. But I don't mind if you take a break to eat. I mean gods, what use are you to me if you starve? Of course, you're so thin right now you'd probably get sick from three square meals...you take breakfast with me in the Great Room until further notice. I don't care where you eat your supper as long as it gets eaten, understand?"

"Uh, y-yes, m'lady."

"And that brings me to my second question. Are you purposely avoiding the tub or do peasants still think soap and water wash away your protective layers?"

"Wha-" Rumpelstiltskin looked down at his ruined clothes and grimy skin. "I...I couldn't find a tub, m'lady. And I-I haven't r-really had the time..."

The Dark One rolled her eyes a bit at that. "Oh Rumple, I don't have a wash basin lying around here. At I least I don't think so...maybe I do? Never mind. Look, have you been exploring on the East Wing yet? There's a bathroom there, please, use it. Today if you can help it. I can't have a servant in the Dark Castle running around in rags and if I'm going to give you a proper livery, I'd like the man underneath it to be clean."

"Um, yes m'lady, of course."

"Good. So...why did you let the thief go?"

That was her third question, the last one, but also the toughest. Rumpelstiltskin studied the cup in his hands. He didn't really know why he did it, now that the Dark One wasn't practically spitting fire at him, and he had a chance to think...

"I...I don't know...I just...I just don't know why. I just...did it...it seemed right at the time."

Although it was without scrutiny or tension, the Dark One stared at him for a long while. The cold drip sliding down the back of Rumpelstiltskin's throat began to tickle, and he attempted to clear his throat...but then it turned into a nasty cough he barely covered with the back of his wrist. (He was fairly sure that this oddly fair mood the Dark One was in would evaporate if he spit mucus all over her.)

The Dark One frowned, casting an eye around the dungeon. She suddenly jumped up and cursed, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!"

"I'm sorry, m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin rasped, rubbing his sore throat.

"No, no! Not the-Damn it you've got black mold growing on the wall in here, are you stupid? Why didn't you say anything! At worst I'd move you to another dungeon!"

Oh. Mold. That's what that dark stuff was...

"Ugh," the Dark One kneaded at her temples like he was giving her a headache. "Just-just go and find that tub in the East Wing! Then come down to the Great Room, and if my headache is gone, then we'll talk some more about how my caretaker can't take care of himself. Go!"

Rumpelstiltskin didn't care to wonder if this was an elaborate punishment. He was cold and his head hurt and he knocked back the rest of the water in the tin cup and hurried to obey.

* * *

Robin removed his pendant once he and Marian returned to camp. The magic wand had done it's work, and Marian and their baby were saved. It quite physically hurt Robin to have to leave his pregnant wife's side that evening, but he still had business with his matron.

"I'll be back in a minute love, promise," Robin planted a kiss on Marian's cheek before slipping out into the forest.

When he could no longer see the campfire, and his only light was the stars above, Robin Hood stopped in a clearing. One of the stars overhead twinkled, and suddenly fluttered to the ground in a tiny ball of blue light. Robin withdrew the magic wand from it's hiding place in his quiver and looked up to find the Blue Fairy hovering in front of him, her translucent wings flitting behind her.

"Good evening Robin Hood," the Blue Fairy bobbed her head politely. "I see you were successful."

"Well, more like lucky, but I have your wand," Robin smiled, extending the wand.

"Thank you," the Blue Fairy returned with a queenly, detached smile and the wand vanished in blue sparkles. "You have my gratitude, we've been trying to retrieve this wand from the Dark One for decades. If there's anything I can do for you-"

"Actually," the thief held up a finger. "There might be. Not so much for me, but I would have died in the Dark One's dungeons if it hadn't been for a man there. He was a servant of some sort, an older man, small of frame, brown eyes and hair. He made a deal with the Dark One to save his village. I don't just owe him my life, but the life of my wife and child as well."

The Blue Fairy blinked. "I...will see what I can do. Thank you again for your help."

"I should be thanking you, but you are welcome," Robin nodded, making his way back to camp.

After he was gone, the Blue Fairy sat in thought. She knew Belle too well, this incarnation of the Dark One had been a bane in her side for the past three hundred years ever since she came across the fool woman trying to break a fundamental rule of magic. And as long as the Blue Fairy had known Belle, she had always been a solitary, wicked creature that preferred her solitude in her dark citadel surrounded by her books. Why would she take on a servant? It made no sense. Then again, Belle seldom did...

* * *

Belle looked around the dungeon cell and groaned, slumping against the door jamb.

She didn't come down here enough to know about the mold. If Rumpelstiltskin had said something-But of course he wouldn't! He was afraid of her! He probably didn't stop to eat because he was scurrying around trying not to give her a reason to incinerate him.

**Belle was tired of him being feared under her own roof...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I posted this I thought: Doubt this gets much traffic. Now it's almost got 600 hits! Also: If you like the Robert Carlyle series "Hamish Macbeth", I just wrote my first non-OUAT fic for that. Check it out if, y'know, you're into Robert Carlyle...which most Rumbelle supporters seem to be...  
> Chapter VIII: "Operation: Silent Breakfast", a visitor needs a cape mended, and Belle starts studying a new curse...


	8. VIII. Changing Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle spared Robin Hood's life, and returned to the Dark Castle to release Rumpelstiltskin from this prison cell, and make a few changes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I was going to put Jefferson in this chapter...until I found through researching Wikipedia that he was officially retired from portal-jumping since his wife died on a job when Grace was, like, two. Most people say it's Alice (which I'm totally cool with, by-the-by,) but I'm a huge fact-stickler.
> 
> Enjoy our favorite werewolf instead!

Belle was just starting to wonder whether or not her caretaker was lost, or had drowned in the tub (and wasn't that all shades of awkward?) when he came limping through the doors. She poured him a cup of tea. (Her own cup had _more_ than a little bourbon in it, so she made sure not to mix them up.) Since her culinary talents ended at tea, perhaps toasting a cheese sandwich in a pinch, she used magic to cook up two bowls of hot tomato soup with a dollop of cream on top as he hobbled to the table.

There were dark circles under Rumpelstiltskin's eyes and his nose was a touch red, but that was the mold allergies. Aside from this and the overall gauntness, he cleaned up rather nice. His skin was still rather tan under the layers of grime, and he must've found the razor she placed in the bathroom because he was clean shaven, with perhaps a slight bit of stubble here or there. His hair was damp and possibly finger-combed, and Belle thought when his round brown eyes flickered up to her gaze he looked a bit like a puppy lifted up from a puddle. Poor thing.

However...

It occurred to Belle that she hadn't given him a change of clothes. She had remembered the razor (and enchanted it not to pierce the skin, just in case,) and conjured some clean towels up, but totally forgot about the clothes. Fortunately...her caretaker was a resourceful little thing.

On his underfed frame, the plain gray tunic fit him like a shapeless sack with ill-fitting sleeves, and the black trousers looked a bit loose, but neither was too long and were clean enough to suffice until she came up with a proper livery.

"Where did you find the clothes?" she asked, perching up on the edge of the table with her legs tucked under her.

Rumpelstiltskin shifted nervously. "I, w-well, I-I've started cleaning out some of the bedrooms, upstairs? There are still clothes in some of the wardrobes and drawers, s-so I borrowed these for now. Is that acceptable m'lady?"

Belle blinked. "There are still clothes in the wardrobes? Hmm. You're welcome to anything you find in those drawers Rumple, I've no use for them. Ah, unless of course, it looks magical, in which case you should probably avoid touching it until I say so. I misplaced a pair of shoes that cause uncontrollable dancing, and I don't think you'd enjoy dancing with a bad knee."

"Ankle," he blurted, then quickly added. "A-and thank you, m'lady, that's very generous."

But Belle had always been a curious one. "So it's your ankle that's bad? Oh, I was starting to wonder if you had a club foot. Was it an accident or-"

"Aye, an accident, m'lady," he nodded quickly, looking down at his feet like he was ashamed of them. "Shattered right ankle."

For a moment, Belle entertained the thought of repairing his ankle. It would probably be easy, but if she went around fixing all cripples, there would be a magic-backlash sooner or later. Magic was funny like that, an act as simple as healing a sick child often had far-reaching consequences. There was no telling what would befall her or her caretaker by repairing his ankle, and Belle wasn't known for doing magic for free.

"Well, that brings me back to our problem," she demurred, balancing her soup bowl on her lap and taking a scoop from around the edges. "Y'know, for a cripple, you get a surprising amount of work done. So you're either not eating to try and get more done, or you have some funny notion about using up all my food. Which you won't, mind, as my cabinets and larder are magically re-stocked."

Rumpelstiltskin shifted his weight off of his bad ankle. When he hobbled out the cell earlier, his limp was more pronounced. The cold and the inactivity must be playing hell with the joint. Belle waved him towards the chair at the end of the table.

"Go sit. I can't talk over dinner if you're gonna hang there like an awkward sausage. As a matter of fact, until further notice, you'll sit in here and take breakfast with me. I don't care where you eat your dinner as long as it's, y'know, eaten. You'll find that taking a few minutes for a meal will keep you on top of your work a lot better than skipping over them. And since you _didn't_ tell me about the mold in your room, there's no telling what's growing in the rest of the dungeon. So you can start sleeping in one of those rooms you've been exploring, I don't care which. The door will still open at dawn and I cannot stress proper use of the tub enough now that you know where it is. All clear?"

"Y-yes m'lady, of course," Rumpelstiltskin nodded jerkily, then fumbled with the silver spoon, desperately trying to retain all of that and eat his soup while it was still hot at once. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Mmm, aha, yes. You can go anywhere in the castle, unless the door is locked."

"And your tower," he nodded. "Yes m'lady."

He really was a like a puppy, Belle snorted into her teacup. A keen one, sort of a mutt, but a fast learner, even if he was scared of his own shadow.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning consisted of scrambled eggs, ham, toasted bread, tea, and large amounts of silence.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't fit two plates _and_ the white-and-blue tea set on his trusty tray. It would have been too heavy, for one, and it didn't fit, for another. So first he brought up the plates and silverware rolled in a napkin, set them down, and carried the tray back for the tea he left boiling. It took a bit of time, but it was accomplished, and his mistress didn't complain.

Rumpelstiltskin was not an accomplished cook. What little he knew was pieced together from what the survivalist minimum the spinsters showed him, and the trial-and-error he put together when Milah started shirking dinner in favor of evenings at the tavern. (And then lunch...and was sometimes too hungover to tend to breakfast...) What little he could make, he made...with mixed results, but was improving thanks to a cookbook he'd dug up from the library.

The Dark One didn't seem to have anything to say about his cooking skills, positive or negative. That was for the best, because he wouldn't know what to say anyway. At one point, the Dark One cleared her throat, and he thought she was talking to him.

"Pardon?"

"What?" she blinked.

"Wh-what did you say?"

"Nothing. What did you hear?"

"N-nothing, m'lady."

"Ah..."

This lingering awkwardness left their breakfast in a stifling, awkward silence. But Rumpelstiltskin couldn't deny he felt healthier with two solid meals in his stomach.

For about a week they had "Silent Breakfasts", as Rumpelstiltskin had taken to calling them in his head. But on this day, the Dark One sat curled up in her oversized chair, pouring over a scroll as he brought up the tray with their breakfast on it. She'd shown up at the dinner table yesterday with the scroll, and had been looking at it ever since.

Her jerkin was made from red-hued leather just darker than her hair, but instead of the flimsy scraps of material protecting her modesty, she wore a satiny greyish-gold blouse. It was still cut low over her small bust, but more conservatively, and edged with black spiderwebby lace. Her skirt was plain white linen, but it was embroidered in more elaborate lace webbing, in gold, black, red, and a brownish rust sort of color all over the fabric.

Perhaps it was the spinner in Rumpelstiltskin, but he'd always been more interested in the patchwork skirts than the plunging necklines of his mistress's wardrobe. The materials were fascinating, and the lace the Dark One had a penchant for was the finest he'd ever seen.

He had gone back to the kitchens for the tea tray, and when he came back, there was a tall brunette girl with green eyes waving a red cloak at the Dark One. She was taller than Rumpelstiltskin was when he brought the tea tray to the table, and using a tone with the Dark One that was best described as _respectfully determined_ to have her way.

"Can you fix my cape or not?"

"Oh calm down, have a cup of tea!" Belle motioned towards the tea set, resting her chin on her knees. "I'm not in the mood for crazy dealing this early in the morning."

I don't think this is crazy Belle, I just need you to mend my cape so I don't turn change species under a full moon!"

Obviously Rumpelstiltskin was missing some relevant information.

 _Belle_ got up then, and spread the red cape out on the tabletop, inspecting a tear in the hem. "Hmm...well it's not too bad, you'll be pleased to hear. A bit of enchanted thread, couple of stitches, and no one will know you're lycanthropic but your granny. And, y'know, whoever else you told."

Some _very_ relevant information, then.

The taller woman looked like she was going to start tapping her foot impatiently, and the Dark One rolled her flat blue eyes. "Oh calm yourself," she chided, summoning a spool of red thread and a silver needle. "I'll have it done in no time. Would you like that cup of tea while you wait?"

" _Please fix the cape_ ," the girl grit her teeth.

"Fine, fine, let _him_ know if you change your mind," Belle waved her hand dismissively in his direction as she turned her attention to the cape.

The tall girl finally looked at Rumpelstiltskin, and looked him over critically. "Who're you?"

"Um...Rumpelstiltskin, miss. H-how do you do?"

She narrowed her sharp green eyes, but suddenly whirled her head around to Belle as she was threading the needle. "Wait, wait! What's your price?"

"Hmm," Belle hummed, tapping her chin. "Well, this is really a minor deed. So...ooh! How about some of those little teacakes, y'know? That your grandmother makes?"

"You want a batch of Granny's teacakes? Why?"

"Or I could take your firstborn child, that work for you?"

"Teacakes! Fine! Deal!" the girl huffed, folding her arms. "Now will you fix it? _Please_?"

Belle smiled and finished threading the needle, and the red line began to glow, when her head suddenly jerked up. Rumpelstiltskin had seen this a time or two before. Someone, somewhere, was calling the Dark One.

"I'm sorry," she dropped the needle as she backed away from the table. "But, ah, can I give you a rain-check?"

"What? But we have a deal right n-"

"No papers were signed! _This_ is more of a gentlewoman's agreement, and I'll be back soon enough!"

She vanished in a glittery gold cloud, leaving a confused Rumpelstiltskin and an angry young woman, who glared angrily in the spot where the Dark One had been standing.

"Terrific! I come all the way out here just to- _Argh_ , that infuriating witch!"

Rumpelstiltskin curiously picked up the needle. The thread was still glowing, so it was probably enchanted, not necessarily a spell woven into the fabric. So, he began mending the tear, and the girl looked quite confused when she noticed him.

"What are you doing?"

"Mending your cape," he replied, without looking up. "Though I think you'll still want to pay the Dark One since she started the work."

Needlework and fabric Rumpelstiltskin was confident in. It also gave him something to do with his ever-restless hands. He was done quickly, and smoothed out the silky red material, double-checking his work on both sides. You could only tell there was a tear if you looked very closely.

"That's great," the girl peered over his shoulder. "Thank you. So...should I bring the Dark One's payment back here?"

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. "I don't know. All I do is clean, cook, and serve the tea when she calls for it."

The girl gathered up her cape, inspecting the neat little stitches one last time before turning her quizzical gaze on him. "Are you her butler or something?"

"Aye. Well, a caretaker anyway."

"How'd that happen?"

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. "I-I uh, h-have you heard of the Seventh Ogre War? In the Frontlands?"

The girl snorted. "With that asinine Duke that sends half-trained children into battle? I heard the Ogres were all suddenly turned into butterflies within a week. That's...that's some deal."

"Well, the deal was that as long as I serve the Dark One, the Frontlands would be protected from Ogres. The children, my son, they wouldn't be sent off to war. I...wasn't popular in my village, but...but I could do this to help him, to help the children."

The girl looked thoughtful for a moment. "My grandmother took me from my mother when I was a baby. I, uh, we're werewolves. My mother wanted to raise me as a wolf, and Granny wanted me to be normal. She got this cape from the Dark One so I wouldn't change under the moon. I was mad when I found out, but...but I sort of get it. Parents do crazy things, to protect their kids."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded slowly. "That...that's about right. I'll tell the Dark One I mended the cape for you. Why does she want teacakes as payment?"

The girl just shook her head. "She's the Dark One, who knows? Maybe she's going to enchant them and give them to a traveler, maybe she'll poison them and give them to an enemy. Maybe she just likes cake! But thanks again, Rumblestiltson."

"Happy to help. And uh, I'm _Rumpelstiltskin_."

"Well," the girl threw the cape over her shoulders, drawing up the hood. "I'm Red. It was nice meeting you Rumpelstiltskin."

* * *

The Darkness in Belle loved to prey on the desperate and weak, those that wanted a magic solution to a problem without thinking of the consequences. But there were some requests Belle was more willing to grant than others. Healing was one of her more popular deals, particularly parents seeking aid for sick children. And even if this older lord's daughter was little more than seventeen, Belle was willing to help because of the circumstances.

But she'd been summoned too late, because the lord hadn't known what was wrong until it was too late.

The poor girl, just of age, a beautiful little blonde laying in a pool of fresh blood, had been promised marriage by a prince, fooled by sweet talk and thrown aside when she'd given it up. Naturally, the shame and threat of scandal kept the whole affair quiet. But the girl was now (had been,) expecting a child from the fiasco, and their physician had offered the girl a concoction to "fix" the situation.

"Dead is dead, I am sorry, but there's nothing I can do here," Belle said, throwing an icy glare at the "doctor". The girl's brothers didn't seem anymore forgiving, less so, actually. But the anger radiating from the lord was different.

"Oh yes there is," he growled. "Dark One, name your price. What would it take to get revenge on Prince James and his father?"

"James I understand," Belle arched her brows. "But why King George?"

"I told him of... _what_ his son did to my daughter! _'Why is it my fault your daughter couldn't keep her legs shut?'_ I want both those men broken, and I'll pay any personal price but my remaining children to see it happen!"

Belle smiled thinly. This she could work with.

"You've a clockwork nightingale made for your grandfather, haven't you? Give it to me now, and I promise you to hit King George where it hurts him most."

"Branslaw," the lord turned to one son. "Fetch the nightingale. You have a deal Dark One."

* * *

Belle appeared in her library a little after the time she usually took her noon tea. She put the clockwork nightingale on top of her writing desk and flopped back into her chair with a sigh. On paper, it was easy to ruin King George, and Prince James was entirely dependent on daddy's success. To ruin them, she'd just cut off all funds to the kingdom. Now she just had to find the best way to do it. Something that ensured ultimate suffering, but plausible enough to look like a streak of bad luck.

Belle was nothing if not a subtle puppet master. Hmm. This would put her study of this fascinating curse on hold. And speaking of...

Belle noticed a mistranslation on her notes. She should fix that before she got started on another project. Hmm...where was "Vilest Curses in Creation"? Belle had given Rumpelstiltskin explicit instruction not to touch anything on her desk. And nothing was misplaced on her desk. But she did have a table roughly five feet away she used to hold the overflow of research books. Crap. Where did they go? Belle got up and noticed that the books that seemed to pile up n the sofas and tables were all gone. When did that happen?

"M'lady? You're back."

Rumpelstiltskin came around the corner of one bookshelf with a broom in his free hand. Belle waved a hand towards the now empty table impatiently.

"Where are my books? Specifically, the ones on this table?"

"Which one do you mean?"

Belle opened her mouth to snap something like _"Are you blind as well as lame now, this table here! What do you think I'm pointing at?"_ when he added; "There were only five books on that table, I can probably find them again, but was there one you're looking for in particular?"

"I...uhh...green book? Dark lettering?"

"That curse book?" Her caretaker asked. "Ah. One moment, m'lady."

He went limping through the maze of bookshelves, and Belle just sort of stood there. How did he know where to put her books away? There shelves were organized, yeah, but...but you had to read to know that. Could he read?

She puzzled over it until Rumpelstiltskin returned with the book in his hand, offering it to her with a totally innocent expression on his face. Belle took it in numb hands and blurted, "You can read."

"Aye," he shrugged. "Haven't had much practice but I know my letters better than most, in my village anyway."

"How-When- _Where_ did you learn, I mean, that didn't look like a very scholarly village."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "Not very indeed. I, ah, I was raised by two spinsters. They taught me to spin and weave, and the younger sister, Charlotte, she taught me to read even though Arachne said it was a waste of time. It may never save the world or anything, but it comes in handy now and then."

As he spoke, a small but proud note crept into Rumpelstiltskin's voice and a hint of a smile crinkled his face. The laugh lines made him look younger, somehow. But then it seemed burn out and he faltered.

"I-I didn't know you were using those books, m'lady, i-if you'd rather I leave them where they are..."

Belle was suddenly reminded of the first time he brought breakfast to her, a long month ago. He presented her with eggs-in-a-basket, well-prepared from what she could tell, but immediately folded under her scrutiny and never made it again. She didn't even get to try it. And now he, not realizing it was rather amazing that possibly the poorest peasant in a backwater village knew his letters, had organized her discarded books, and was backpedaling like he'd done something wrong...

"No, no. It's...if I'd known you could read, I would've had you do it anyway. Just leave the books on that table by my desk be, okay?"

Rumpelstiltskin ran his tongue over his dry lips. "O-of course, yes, y-yes m'lady. Oh, um, I-I mended the cape for your visitor, too. She said she would bake your payment as soon as she got home."

_'He can sew too? Oh. Spinner.'_

Belle nodded. "Good, um, thank you. I didn't mean to leave her in the lurch but, well, it was a rather important visit. I was a little late as it was...but I was contracted for a different deal. Hence, the clockwork nightingale over there."

A curious look crossed her caretaker's face as he noticed the delicate little trinket perched on top of her desk. "A clockwork nightingale? How does...how does that work?"

"Little mechanical bits inside it turn and twist and play music. C'mon, let me show you how it works. There's actually a great story that goes with it, c'mon," Belle set down her book and guided Rumpelstiltskin towards her new trinket.

**The curse could wait for a bit...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm crazy enough to come up with a half-dozen mini-ideas for Anyelle and Anyem (feral!Nosty/tribal!Belle, Danny/Lacey, Curupira and beast!Rush if I can kidnap him for a minute,) and I'd greatly appreciate it if you wouldn't mind passing along a few of your own since I'm not crazy enough to get them anywhere. I also must warn you I'm not good at writing X-rated fics, so keep it, say, PG-13 if you prompt?
> 
> Chapter IX: Regina unwittingly provides an opportunity, Rumpelstiltskin is uncomfortable, and Her Majesty talks cats with the Dark One.


	9. IX. The Queen's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Rumpelstiltskin met Red Riding Hood, proving he's a man of many talents, and Belle looks for a way to ruin King George...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: Rumple got his Seer powers from that eye-in-hands woman. (Do NOT try to escape a prophecy, have you _read Oedipus?!_ ) Belle doesn't see the future, so she isn't purposely setting up Snow White and Charming with a master plan, it just turns out this way.

It shouldn't have been surprising, but after two weeks of eating regularly, Rumpelstiltskin started to feel...a little more human. He hadn't quite realized how ragged he was running himself until he _wasn't_ anymore. Taking the little bit of time to eat gave him a little more strength to work with. It was common sense, but sometimes cowards didn't see the obvious.

The meals had started filling out the deep indents in his ribs and sunken belly. The Dark One, Belle, had been right about the mold making him ill and his sickly cough had faded away. His new room was plain, with plastered sand-colored walls, a hardwood floor with a hand-braided rug, and simple, sturdy furniture. It may have been a servants quarters once, and Rumpelstiltskin felt more comfortable in here than in the plush-carpeted, ornately decorated rooms the past owners must've used.

He'd begun exploring the unlocked rooms of the castle. Some were just full of odds and ends accumulated in the Dark One's deals. Some were these rooms Rumpelstiltskin decided were "sitting rooms" full of couches and chairs that seemed to serve no other purpose. There was also a ballroom, two more bathrooms, a massive dining room with a table that could easily sit a hundred people, and Rumpelstiltskin had given up counting the bedrooms.

Since his mistress allowed him to keep anything (normal) he could find in the drawers of those old bedrooms, Rumpelstiltskin started looting them for blankets and pillows too. He'd found some clothes that were almost his size, but the thing he was most pleased to find were some balls of old yarn, and a few sewing kits with needles and colorful thread. He put all of those into a basket and kept it on his dressing table, and while it didn't seem like much, he was glad to have something to do with his hands that was familiar.

While Belle had made it clear he couldn't go into any of the locked rooms, that didn't mean Rumpelstiltskin couldn't peek through the keyholes. (Bae's curiosity was apparently hereditary.) Usually it was too dark to tell, although, for the most part, it just seemed to be more rooms filled with objects. It was a sad, really, Rumpelstiltskin thought, to have such a big place that was so...empty.

If this was where the Dark One lived, was it any wonder she was deemed half-mad?

* * *

Belle had been summoned by Regina's outraged shrieks just before dinner. Since Rumpelstiltskin's meager cooking skills had improved once he found a cookbook in her library, she considered ignoring the Queen. Then again, Regina was always good for a laugh. Or a challenge. Or a solution to another problem.

Today would appear to be all three.

Regina was working herself into a proper snit over the fact that the peasants of the kingdom supported Snow White, _not her_ , and wouldn't cooperate when she burned their houses down.

Belle wandered around her chambers while she vented, sniffing at a bundle of snow-white lilies. _'Irony all over that.'_ She'd just sat down and made a show of examining her face in the hand-mirror when Regina stopped venting and finally started thinking.

"Teach me my mother's shapeshifting spell. Then I could walk around the peasants-"

"It took Cora months to learn that one," Belle reminded her, but she'd quickly latched onto the door Regina had opened. "You? In a week...mmm...maybe your hair? Blonde, some highlights? Red hair, ah, don't think you'd like that at all."

"But could _you_ cast the spell on me?"

Regina was sadly predictably when it came to anything related to Snow White. Belle could ask for her left pinky and Regina would cut it off on her vanity table right now. But at least she understood that magic didn't come cheap, and she asked for the price before Belle cast the spell.

"The price? Oh, petty politics, really," Belle crinkled her nose. "I'll need you to cut off all trade routes with King George's kingdom."

"King George," the brunette puzzled. "Why?"

"Because I need him bloody bankrupt, that's why!" Belle stomped her foot. It was petty, a little childish even.

"Fine! Just cast the damn spell already!" But then again, so was Regina.

Belle obliged, and Regina summed it up when she said her appearance was about as regal as a potato. Perhaps a potato sack, shapeless and raggy. While she paid no heed to the warning that she wouldn't like what she heard amongst the common folk, Regina was usually just clever enough to be a nuisance. But Belle had been playing the game longer than "Her Majesty", and sometimes she liked to remind the Queen who held the cards.

She'd said Regina could call whenever she wanted to be changed back, _Belle never said she'd answer!_

Thus, satisfied that Regina would get a reality check and come knocking down her doors tomorrow, if not sooner, Belle went home to the promise of salmon and roasted peppers...

* * *

The Dark One had retired to her tower after breakfast, and Rumpelstiltskin went about cleaning the chimneys and fireplaces. It wasn't much colder in December here than it was mid-October in the Frontlands, but he'd seen homes burned down because the families hadn't cleaned the build-up out their chimney. (And if this labyrinth caught fire, he'd never find his way out fast enough!)

By the time the spinner finished with the last one in the library, he was covered in gray and black from head to toe. He'd probably ruined this set of clothes, but the fireplaces were clean now. There was a bit of time left before dinner, so he decided to sweep the foyer like he'd have to do tomorrow anyway.

"Will you just take this damn spell off me?!"

But once he got halfway down the stairs, he saw a plain-looking peasant woman dressed in gray rags fuming in front of a full-length mirror beside his mistress, who was much tinier than the stranger.

"I want my magic back and I want to get into my own castle, thank you very much!" the peasant woman must've been very bold or very stupid to demand something from his mistress, and Rumpelstiltskin sincerely hoped he wouldn't be asked to scrub a grease stain off the foyer floor in the near future.

"Aw," Belle cooed instead, gliding up to the woman's side. "I told you it wouldn't be pleasant."

The woman glared down at the Dark One. "You want to hear you're right, is that what this is?"

Belle bit her lip though a wide grin, rocking back and forth on her heels.

"Fine! You were right..." The strange gazed sadly into the mirror. "They'll never love me..."

Her voice was small and forlorn, and while Rumpelstiltskin was very ill at ease with this situation...he felt a little sorry for the woman. Her tone was that of despair and surrender, one he'd heard too often in his own voice.

Belle leaned her head on the woman's shoulder, sighing. "So sad...and yet," she popped back up and clapped her hands together. "So very true! What's the plan now?"

The peasant woman's expression changed into a frightening calm, even when her voice shook with thinly-concealed rage. " **Punish them."**

Belle giggled, and a golden smoke wrapped around the peasant. When the smoke cleared, a tall woman who was decidedly NOT a peasant stood proudly in her place. She wore what Rumpelstiltskin supposed was a red velvet riding coat because of the long sleeves, but the tails nearly touched the floor like a cloak and it dropped down low over her ample cleavage. An ostentatious necklace glittered around her neck and she wore skintight leather trousers and tall boots with impractically tall heels. Her skin was tanned and flawless, and her hair dark was tucked under the black velvet hat that only a noblewoman could afford. Her face was...her face may have been pretty, if it wasn't so heavily made up with khol and lipstick that gave her a level of severity. That and the look of cold, dangerous way she purred, "The Queen is dead...long live the Evil Queen."

When the self-proclaimed Evil Queen looked up from the mirror, her eye happened to fall on Rumpelstiltskin.

Her dark eyes were familiar, somehow. Part of him wanted to saw the trapped, unhappiness simmering under the surface reminded him of Milah, but that wasn't it exactly. He didn't have time to ponder it because then Belle saw him and she frowned.

_'Crap.'_

"I, um, p-pardon me, m'lady," he bobbed his head at Belle and started backtracking up the stairs. Not easy with a staff, but, _gods be damned,_ he would manage it right now! "I-I didn't mean to inter-"

"Who is _that_?" The Queen arched a finely-groomed brow, and Rumpelstiltskin was conscious of his filthy clothes. Earlier he had scrubbed his face and hands, but that still left him pretty filthy.

"That," Belle gazed coldly at the back of Regina's head. "Is my new caretaker. You may have noticed the clean foyer if you hadn't been stomping in here like an angry cow."

The Queen glared over her shoulder at that, but Belle just smiled sweetly. Then she looked at him with her lightless blue eyes, with a flicker of a scowl threatening her pale features. "This is Queen Regina," she said, and Rumpelstiltskin managed a half-bow holding the broom in one hand and keeping his staff in the other. That seemed to amuse Regina, like a dog performing a cute trick.

Rumpelstiltskin never entirely forgot that his mistress was the Dark One...but it was easier to think of her as a person when she chided him over his health and scolded him for skipping a meal than an evil little sorceress. And it made sense that she'd be a business associate with someone called "the Evil Queen".

* * *

Regina had invited herself to dinner, sitting in a chair across the table from Belle, looking like she owned the place as she sized up Belle's caretaker like a horse at auction. Belle found herself torn between pity for her caretaker and the desire to smack his hatchet-face for stumbling upon them in the foyer.

There were moments when Regina reminded Belle of the girl who just wanted to be free of her horrid mother's influence. And then there were moments when she acted so much like Cora it was disgusting. At this moment, Belle could practically see the wheels in Regina's head turning as Rumpelstiltskin brought out the tray with dinner on it. He'd made some form of lemony-smelling chicken, roasted red potatoes, and fluffy bread, and Regina eyed the plate set before her curiously.

"So you cook?" she began, turning a sultry smile on Rumpelstiltskin. "What else do you do around here?"

Belle could have told Regina that trying to seduce her caretaker was futile. Not to mention a bit dangerous. Back when she kept forgetting he existed because he was so withdrawn, she came through a hallway peeling off her leather jerkin, and her blouse only barely qualified as a blouse without it on. Her poor caretaker turned red as a beet and knocked over a suit of armor he was polishing with a spectacular crash. Belle prayed there would be no broken china, chipped or otherwise, would come from this visit.

"Mostly I clean, Your Highness," he spoke quietly, looking at the shiny jewel pinned to Regina's hat rather than her person. "And serve tea when my mistress calls for it."

"I guess he must make a fine cup of tea if you keep him," Regina said, turning her attention back to Belle with an arched brow. "He doesn't look good for much else, but appearances can be decieving..."

The innuendo-and insult,-was quite clear, but Belle wouldn't play along. "The tea is very good. Rumple, why don't you bring Regina a cup, hmm?"

"Yes m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin nodded, darting away as fast as his ankle would allow.

"And well-trained too," Regina chuckled, make it sound like even more of a joke than it was a fake compliment. "Wherever did you find him Belle?"

"Oh, just a little deal," Belle demurred, nibbling on her lower lip. "Nothing special, he's just my caretaker for the rest of his natural life. He does his work, makes the tea, stays out of my way. Its like having a shadow clean the castle, really. Quite efficient for a man with a bum leg."

"I see. And is he...efficient, elsewhere?"

Belle smiled thinly. "Darling, he's old enough to be your father. A little pigeon-chested peasant, and crippled. Do you really think I'd take him to bed with me?"

"All cats are gray in the dark, dear. Don't you get lonely out here?"

"Not that kind of lonely I don't. I've had enough lovers to say that all men are alike, thank you," Belle's nose crinkled. "They woo you, they love you, then they try to fix you or lie or, in my case, slay the beast. We can't all have our lovers on short leashes like your pet hunter."

One of the most worst things Regina had done was take the Huntsman heart, in Belle's opinion. She kept the man on her guard, or in her bed, without a choice. Belle had always used heart-ripping sparingly, mainly to kill someone quickly. She was smart enough not to need a person's heart in her hand to control them, but Regina must've had some kind of fetish about it.

 _'Like mother...'_ Belle smiled, as the dart hit its mark. Regina's stiffened right down to her fake smile, inwardly seething at the remark.

Rumpelstiltskin returned shortly with his tray. Regina asked for a scoop of sugar in her tea, and Rumpelstiltskin prepared it quietly. Then he stood quieter still to the side while Belle and Regina had their dinner, and Belle was unpleasantly reminded of those mornings where he'd stand right there, too afraid to ask for permission to leave even while squirming out of his skin with discomfort.

Eventually, Regina dabbed her red lips with a napkin and stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality Belle, and try to keep this one around. Good help is so hard to find."

Belle was about ten seconds from seeing if Regina's coat was really as red as blood or not when Her Royal Pain in the Highness flounced out the Great Room, presumably to show herself out.

Rumpelstiltskin picked up the Queen's plate and loaded it onto the tray. "She seems...complicated..."

"That's putting it lightly. Regina...Regina doesn't really understand how to treat people like people. I'd call her a sociopath, but there are extenuating circumstances, too. You can tend to the dishes tomorrow, I think I'll be up in my tower all day tomorrow. And by the gods man, go take a bath. What've you been doing all day?"

"Cleaning the fireplaces, m'lady," he gave a bit of a sheepish smile. "Ah, will you be taking breakfast in the morning?"

"Nah. Don't worry about it. I'll probably be down for dinner though, unless I forget. I'm working on a complicated project at the moment, very involved."

"Very well, good evening m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin nodded with a timid smile, gathering dishes onto the tray.

Belle smiled, studying her caretaker through her lashes. Regular meals had filled some of the hollows in his face and added color. His hair was a bit gray, but soft-looking. He had a lovely smile, crooked teeth or not, and his deep, honey-brown eyes softened nicely. When he smiled, even when it was those shy little smiles, or perhaps especially when, he looked younger, lighter. "All cats are gray in the dark", eh Regina?

The Dark One rolled her eyes after Rumpelstiltskin left, conjuring up a bottle of alcohol.

She wasn't about to take advice from the Evil Queen, and she wasn't _that_ kind of lonely at all. Besides, she preferred watching her caretaker. He spoke with his hands, a lot, his brown eyes hid no secrets, and Belle found it more interesting to watch his face and hands than tumble in her unused bed with a gray cat.

She took her first sip of drink and crinkled her nose again.

"I hate cats anyway..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not anti-Regina by any means, but you must admit that the Evil Queen years,-well _she_ was a bitch. Not everything she did should be glossed over (Huntsman, *cough-cough*) but I can sort of see her reasoning. (Just saw sneak-peek for Sunday, go to the Internet! Go!) She'll be back soon.
> 
> Chapter X: Belle's ruination of King George has a side effect, a shepherd moves to greener pastures, and Rumpelstiltskin and Belle go from awkward to philosophical.


	10. X. What Makes a Hero, What Makes a Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When last we left off, Rumpelstiltskin kept out of the way of an uninvited guest, Regina embraces her role as the Evil Queen, and Belle's plot to ruin King George is well under way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the tenth chapter? *blows party horn* Yay for me!

It was a matter of a month, give or take, for King George's kingdom to border on bankruptcy. Even when Prince James and his harlot of a mercenary, "Jack" the Giant-Slayer, looted the Giants' treasure reserves for two sacks of gold. ("Jack" did not return, _stunning_.) So Belle expected she could turn her full attention to the curse, the lord who contracted the deal satisfied.

But she _didn't_ expect for Prince James to die.

King George may not have _loved_ his son, but he still...OK, Belle didn't know what the hell Georgie expected out of the punk who was busy bedding wenches while their economy collapsed. He was a crappy warrior and that was why he was on the slab, duh. The only thing she could think of was an asset to sell to King "Richer-than-the-gods" Midas' dragon-besieged kingdom. But George wanted to make a deal, and since dead was dead, (why didn't these people understand that?) Belle came up with the next thing.

A secret twin.

So she sat at this roughhewn little table and bench near the sheep pen, listening while Prince James II, a.k.a David the Shepherd Boy, "whispered" to his mother, Ruth, about the deal she and her husband made some 27 years ago. She sat primly on the edge of the table, examining the greeny-blue sheen of her blackish nail polish and pretending not to pay attention to the conversation less than eight feet away.

Belle didn't necessarily _like_ dealing in babies. But on the Top 10 List of Deals, children were close to the top of the list. Childless people wanted children, and unfortunately there was always some princess who'd gotten knocked up, unwanted child, or, like Ruth, penniless parents. The penniless ones usually wanted a better chance for their child, and Belle felt mild guilt for having to separate a loving parent from their child.

Ironic that one of her latest deals took the parent away from the child...hmm...that wasn't mild guilt she was feeling now, was it?

* * *

Until ten minutes ago, the biggest issue with David's life was keeping the farm afloat on a meager income, and possibly marrying the right girl.

But in addition to learning he had a twin brother, (who was dead now,) and that his parents made a deal with the Dark One to save the farm before, (and that losing his brother is what drove his father into a bottle,) _now_ David was confronted with the Dark One herself.

 _'I didn't think she'd be so...tiny,'_ a small voice in his mind said, while he approached the table. The Dark One, Belle, looked like a slip of a girl, younger than David, even. She had reddish-brown hair pulled up in a waterfall of curls on the left side of her head, shimmering white skin like polished marble, and flat blue eyes void of any light, like that of a dead thing. She looked like a nightmarish ragdoll in her red-brown-and-gold skirts made from a variety of materials, a russet velvet sort of waistcoat/corset that dipped low over her chest, edged with black lace, and fitted black lace sleeves.

Her tiny feet were bare, and she wriggled her toes in the dirt like an excited child who couldn't keep still.

"Not me, really. The king, y'see, he needs a handsome prince to slay a dragon," she then mimed jabbing a sword into the air with a little grin that further encouraged the illusion of an innocent young girl.

"But...I'm not a dragon-slayer."

"True! But your brother was. You're _identical twin_ brother," Belle held up two fingers and touched them together. "See? Trim up your fuzzy head, get a shave, and nobody will tell the difference between you! All you have to do is play the part you are given...and the king will reward you, i.e., your dear old mum will never want for anything again."

His face must have been shown a lack of enthusiasm, because in the beats of silence to follow, Belle crossed her legs and raised a brow impatiently. "Oh now don't tell me you have a better plan."

David digested this information for a moment, looking out over the wide green field. Up until half an hour ago, David had always expected to be a shepherd. That wasn't a bad thing. He understood his sheep, knew how to run the place. But then after Bo Peep, and even after David dispatched of her with "Joan's" help, money was still an issue. More than one man in the village had offered up his daughter and a dowry, but David wanted to marry for love. But the farm was going under, and he couldn't stop it...

"I guess I don't have a choice," he sighed.

Belle placed an elbow on her crossed knees, cupping her chin in her hand. "No. There's always a choice...just make sure it's the right one."

That sounded like the best advice she was likely to give him...and there really was only one choice, wasn't there?

* * *

Belle had returned to the Dark Castle at around two in the afternoon. She flopped onto the chaise lounge in her library and heaved a sigh, covering her face with her hands. She needed a drink-

"M'lady?" Rumpelstiltskin's timid voice piped up from...somewhere nearby. "Is that you?"

Belle sat up and looked around for her caretaker. "Yeah, just depressurizing after a deal. Nice fellow, symmetrical face, just not the sharpest knife in the drawer, y'know? Uh...where are you?"

One of the curtains against the window fifteen feet away parted, and a familiar, tousled head poked out. After roughly two and a half months, Rumpelstiltskin hadn't done much more than finger-comb his long hair, giving him a slightly, well, rumpled look all the time. When Belle got up and came over to the curtains, she had to resist the impulse to pet his floofy head and smooth it down once again.

As the weather had grown chilly in January, Belle decided that his livery should be warm. So she'd put two or three outfits on his bed while he was busy with chores in the midday, and he was wearing the one with a dark brown vest and gray-green shirt, brown wool pants, and leather boots, and a dark brown jacket with golden buttons she _did not_ place in an unexplored bedroom wardrobe for him to find later. Nope. All the articles had been ones Belle provided...except the scarf looped around his neck.

"Where'd you find that?" she asked, ducking under the curtain.

She'd quite forgotten about the sofa-sized window seat behind the dark velvet curtains, but Rumpelstiltskin must've found it because the window was scrubbed clean and the cushions dustless. His bad leg was stretched in front of him, and Belle perched on the edge of the seat parallel with the ankle. When the curtains flopped shut as the spinner removed the scarf, Belle remembered what a cozy little nook this made, warmed by the weak winter sun.

"I made it myself, m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin replied. "It...it's not magic yarn, is it?"

Belle inspected the scarf she was handed. It was dark red, maroon really, warm from being wrapped around his neck. "No, it's just old. I'm surprised it isn't falling apart."

"Some of the yarn was, m'lady. If I were at home, I would comb it out and spin it into new yarn."

"You can do that?" Belle asked, handing him back the scarf.

"Aye," he smiled a bit, draping the knit article over his shoulders. "I am a spinner, m'lady. I should know how to make yarn."

"Hmm. So if I gave you the wool, or flax, whatever, you could spin anything? Yarn, thread?"

"Aye m'lady, and rope and twine, if there was hemp."

Belle prodded the hand lying on top of the book he'd been reading. "No wonder you talk with your hands so much. They're probably not used to staying still."

His right hand fluttered up a bit before he seemed to forcibly still it. "I don't point _that_ much do I?"

"Only a lot," she grinned back, crinkling her nose. "Especially when you're nervous and don't know what to do with them."

Rumpelstiltskin might've blushed a bit, tapping his index finger twice against the book's cover before scooping it up to presumably continue reading where he left off. "Well, you bite your lip, when, uh, you're thinking, or reading?"

He noticed that? Belle didn't quite notice she was doing just that as she regarded him. At least...not until his timid smile flickered and he waved his hand around his lower face. "What are you thinking about?"

Was...was he teasing her? Oh gods. He was teasing her. What was a proper response?

"Have you noticed anything else?" she tilted her head to the side, purposely biting her lip this time.

Rumpelstiltskin's teasing smile slipped away, though, as his brow furrowed in thought. "I've...I've been meaning to ask you something. About Queen Regina? Was...was her mother that commoner, that married a prince?"

Belle blinked. "Prince Henry, yes. I had no idea that news made it to the Frontlands."

Rumpelstiltskin sat up a little straighter (squirmed really,) and started twitching his fingers unconsciously. "Well, it was big news. Cora's...not a pretty name, is it? How did, uh, how did she...?"

"Well, she and the King made a deal of sorts and she spun straw into gold. That's how she won his son Henry's hand in marriage. Not half as romantic as that sounds though, believe me-"

"I know. I taught her. Spinning, I mean."

Belle was glad she was sitting down.

"So...go on?"

"I, ah, it was when I was young, hardly more than a boy. The wool spinners I lived with were getting older and couldn't quite make the journey to this town further south. I met a woman named Cora there, her eyes were so...bitter. But I was young and foolish, and she was beautiful and charming."

Belle held up a hand. "You can spare me the details."

"Ach, it was nothing salacious really," Rumpelstiltskin snorted sheepishly. "I just...she just sort of led me on for the three days I was there. I was half in love with her when she mentioned she was working extra shifts at this tavern to help cover her father's taxes. I was half in love with her when I left, and I was out of half the small fortune I made because I gave it to her. She turned colder than midwinter as soon as I gave her the money. I had to lie to the old spinsters for the only time in my life, and couldn't bear the shame of returning to that market again..."

Belle smiled a little, studying his downcast brown eyes and nervously drumming fingers. She couldn't claim to understand her odd little caretaker. But she knew he had a tender heart under the layers of fear, the kind that felt so deeply it was too easy to break. The kind that Cora enjoyed grinding to dust.

"She ripped her heart out, y'know," Belle said, feeling some irrationally urge to point out Cora's fate. "Claimed love was weakness and went the rest of her life without it. Or any emotion, really. They call Regina the Evil Queen, but Cora was worse because she didn't feel guilt or anger or remorse. She was just _evil_."

Rumpelstiltskin asked, fixing her with curiously soft brown eyes, and she almost wished she'd never said anything. "What makes someone think love is weakness?"

"Oh Rumple, evil isn't born, it's made. Made by disappointment, guilt, bad choices, being beaten down your whole life and given the power to you could use to break the cycle. Only you don't break the cycle," Belle turned out the window to avoid those _eyes_. "You just...start it again..."

Her caretaker said nothing, but turned out the window to look over the pines with her.

Belle watched the world go by from the window as she had long ago. In a different situation, Rumpelstiltskin would have made an excellent villain. Broken and afraid, his son the only light in his life, used to humiliation and abuse? He'd use power to prop himself up the way he did with that walking staff never far from his reach. If her dagger wasn't tucked in the Dark One vault, quite protected from any would-be seekers, Belle would even say he'd make a hell of a Dark One. But at the same time...there was a hint of something stronger than a mere coward at his core.

Something willing to come with her to a gloomy castle a world away from his boy, to protect him and the innocent children. Something that spurred him into saving a (not quite) innocent man from death by torture, and clever enough to put up an argument that would protect himself from her wrath. Something...good, and kind.

The sun was low in the sky by the time she turned to look at him again. Rumpelstiltskin had nodded off, leaning his forehead against the window.

His face was softer when he slept, smooth with the peace of sleep. Belle nibbled on her lower lip (hmm...she did that a lot, didn't she?) as she regarded a stray lock of sandy brown hair falling over his forehead.

She should probably wake him up. It was nearing the time he usually started on dinner, and besides, he'd get an awful crick in his neck from lying against the window that way...but...

The Dark One took what she wanted. And she wanted to touch.

So she reached out carefully and brushed the lock of hair back, gently tracing the curve of his pixish ear. Just as she suspected, his hair was soft and fine against her sleek fingers. Just what she wanted to know.

_**And nothing more...**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far in the canon world, I'm rather pleased their 100th episode didn't suck. (I highly suggest checking out the crack!vids by Morismarty11 if you dig Rumbelle and Swanfire, they won't disappoint!) I'm also down with Rumpelstiltskin's "f*** this shit *drops the mic* I'm out" attitude. But I need two or three episodes to see if I'll actually like the Underworld/Hellbrooke or not, so, we'll see.
> 
> Oh, for Rumple's non-leather livery, pretend it's a Spinner!Rum in Plunkett's clothing. (And if you don't know what that is, go look up _Plunkett and Macleane_ on YouTube and bask in one of the confident not-a-madman-or-villain greatness.)
> 
> Chapter XI: Where Bae is now, pirate brooding, Regina finds a curse, and Red catches a kitten for a stableboy...


	11. XI. Febuary 1st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far from the cold, wet borders of the Dark Castle, the rest of the world soldiers on with the midwinter and make plans of their own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only a brief mentioning of Rumple this time. I wanna show what several important characters to my story (Bae!) are up to in late January/the 1st of February, because stuff's about to go down back at the castle, and I don't want to distract from it quite yet. Plus, we can always use more Bae.

It had been three months since Rumpelstiltskin had been taken from his village by the Dark One, ending the Seventh Ogre War in the Frontlands, and saving the children, including his own son. Three months since Baelfire had left the same village in search of his father.

When he was younger, especially after Mama died, Bae had gone with his papa when he traveled to Longbourne to sell his wares. Since they didn't have a horse, that meant loading things into a large bag and walking there. It took about three days, two of those spent on the road coming and going. Those were nights where his papa would find them a safe place to sleep where they wouldn't be robbed or attacked by animals.

Bae had never thought much of it at the time, but now he was glad for that experience. It made it easier to sleep outside while he wandered from town to town, and saved his money for food and supplies instead of sleeping in an inn somewhere.

His papa had often told him he was stubborn. Baelfire preferred determined. And his determination carried him for three weeks before he asked for guidance. He'd heard once that the Blue Fairy was a good fairy that helped people in need, which he was, so he knelt down one night under the starry sky and prayed.

"O Blue Fairy, I need your help to find the Dark Castle. My papa made a deal and I don't care what he said. We're a team, I should be there with him. Can you please tell me how to find the Dark Castle, so I can help Papa? Please?"

Not so much as the Green-with-Red-polka-dots Fairy showed up to answer him. There was a sparkle that Bae caught out the corner of his eye, but it was gone when he looked. It must've been a firefly. Still, just in case, Bae started heading westwards, the directions he saw the light.

Eventually he left the Frontlands, the forest growing thick and full instead of scrubby. But winter was closing in fast and when Bae decided he had to find somewhere warm in a town to stay or he would freeze, he found a job as a stable boy at an inn. (It was easy enough, Morraine's family had a horse before the soldiers "commandeered" it for the war.) He had to sleep in a bunk by the hayloft, but it was better than sleeping in the snow, and it paid. In the mean time, Bae kept his ears open and asked around.

But it was frustrating that most people kept repeating the same, vague horror stories again and again.

_'Don't speak the Dark One's name or you'll summon her!'_

_'The Dark One will eat your children!'_

_'She's a demoness of pure evil!'_

Now, Baelfire may be a poor boy from a poverty stricken village, but he was reasonably confident that the Dark One wasn't a demoness of pure evil. Maybe ordinary evil, but not eat-your-children evil. She actually reminded him of a seventeen-year-old girl taken from his village by the soldiers last year. Bertha was a pretty girl that liked to tease boys until they turned red, and was always looking to prove how clever she was. (Papa called her a bit of a show-off, which was much kinder than what some of the elder women called her.) Nevertheless, Bae was working out a deal to offer the Dark One so he could stay at her castle with his papa.

Assuming his papa was still alive...

* * *

In the south seas, a dark pirate ship called The Jolly Rodger bobbed on the lazy ocean. The captain was a rakish young man with dark hair and blue eyes, and a hook instead of a left hand. The pleasant weather for January encouraged the crew to lounge on the deck under the sun like cats. But the aptly named Captain Hook had eyes for only one of the crew.

He came up behind his lover, a tall and handsome raven-haired woman who was distracted, overlooking the railing. "Penny for your thoughts love?"

Milah smiled wanly over her shoulder, then turned back to the ocean.

Hook had Milah at his side for seven years now. He knew how to read her moods, but there was nothing he could do for her when she was in this state of mind. Well, not quite...he could always make The Offer.

"You know," he wrapped his right arm around her. "The Jolly Rodger could always use a cabin boy..."

Milah simply sighed. "No, not...not yet Killian...he probably wouldn't recognize me now anyway."

Hook, a not-so-creative nickname Killian Jones earned after losing his hand to the Dark One, simply held his lover a bit tighter. It had been seven years since Milah left her village behind and came with him for a life of adventure and the open sea. Of course, she left more than a village behind...

She had drawn a portrait of her son once, a good-looking child, with dark curls that reminded Hook of his mother. _**Baelfire**_. It was a strong name, and he must've been about fourteen by now. His father was a sniveling little coward Milah had nothing to say about. Except that he loved Baelfire. He'd take care of Baelfire.

Hook would never say it aloud, but he suspected Milah never really intended to come back for the boy at all. She wasn't meant to be a wife and mother, she was too free-spirited. Taking the lad would mean giving up a bit of freedom, and Milah took every bit of freedom she could get after being trapped in a loveless, miserable marriage. That was the reason they hadn't married, (bigamy aside,) though to Hook, a marriage would just be a complicated ceremony affirming what he already knew: Milah was his, chose to be with him. Not her worthless, cowardly cripple of a husband...

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin was always careful not to touch anything too peculiar-looking in the locked rooms of his mistress's castle. Or too ordinary looking, as he learned in the case of a broomstick that sprouted arms and marched down the hallway. Well, it didn't get far because he whacked it with his walking stick (if it were alive before he'd most certainly killed it!) and it fell inanimate to the ground again.

Heaven help him should he find those dancing shoes Belle warned him about.

His mistress was in an oddly quiet mood recently. If Rumpelstiltskin dared to ask her anything it was met with short answers and a sharp glance of warning. So, rather wisely on his part, he thought, he chose his words carefully and in only the most important of circumstances.

And stayed as far away as possible, by exploring the castle rooms. Because he recalled winters trapped inside with Milah that often resulted in a venomous string of angry words or a sharp slap to the face as soon as Bae was out of earshot in their cottage preceded by looks just like that one. As Rumpelstiltskin started picking his way through a new room filled with furniture, he wondered if Milah would have been happy if they left the village like she always wanted.

A part of him wanted to believe that she was right, and that it would fix everything. The rest of him feared leaving the only home they'd ever known and waved it off, insisting they try and keep things together for Bae's sake. Sometimes he wondered, if he weren't such a coward and they did leave, that Milah would learn to love him again and understand why he couldn't leave her a widowed mother.

Somehow, and he felt he wasn't being a pessimist here, he doubted it. Milah had dreamed of seeing the world, of exploring, doing things a girl from their village could only, well, _dream_ of doing. He just wanted a comfortable life and a family to love and love him back. Someone in his youth had said he'd make an excellent housewife. (Maybe they weren't far wrong, as he was quite efficient at cleaning and cooking for the Dark One, wasn't he?) Either way, he and Milah had fooled themselves when they decided to get married: They weren't suited to one another any more than a cow was suited to a horse because they both had hooves.

They...liked each other. There wasn't any love, an infatuation on his part and perhaps fondness on hers, but no love when they decided to get married. They both assumed that love would come with time In hardly seemed surprising, in hindsight, that they fell apart like-- _A silver spinning wheel_.

Rumpelstiltskin's train of through broke down completely as he gaped at the shimmering sight before him: A big, beautiful spinning wheel appearing to be made of purest silver, from the spokes to the spindle. He hesitantly touched the wheel, smooth and cold under his fingertips, before giving it the lightest push. It spun in a soothing circle, and Rumpelstiltskin felt that he was grinning from ear to eat for the first time in...shit, he couldn't remember smiling like this in a year or better.

His mind blurred with excitement for a moment before he knew exactly what to do, and limped off to his room to fetch the fraying balls of yarn he couldn't use for knitting, a basket to hold it, and a pair of hairbrushes...

* * *

 Regina flung a comb across the room that made such a weak noise she flung a book after it. That made a satisfying thud against the wall. But not satisfying enough to keep her from flinging another. And if the ingredients in those glass vials weren't irreplaceable, she'd probably shatter them too. A shatter might be more satisfying than a thud.

The current reason for her mood, naturally, lay on Snow White, the perfect little princess everyone _adored_ even though she did nothing to deserve it. Meanwhile, Regina spent umpteen years posing as Leopold's wife, completely ignored and unwanted, fulfilling her duties as queen, and summarily ignored. Really, it wasn't any wonder at all that she was burning filthy hovels left and right, was it?

There must be _something_ she was overlooking, some spell or trick to destroy Snow White. _A curse...?_

Regina had resorted to scouring Cora's old spellbooks and magic things. Her mother was a heartless bitch, and Regina had hoped she died when she shoved her through the looking-glass on her wedding day over a decade ago. (She hadn't, of course, and wouldn't it figure she became a tyrant in Wonderland?) However, she was a _talented_ heartless bitch, and a master of ruining other people's lives...especially hers.

With Cora's record, how was Regina supposed to think she _wouldn't_ want Regina to have a baby, just to have another pawn to play with? Besides, there was no man besides Daniel that Regina ever felt she could have children with. All the other men she was exposed to were too insufferable. Like that pig of a Sheriff her mother tried to set her up with. Hell. With her luck, that "man with the lion tattoo" that green fairy, Tinkerbelle, went on and on about would be married with children, even if he was her soulmate...

Wasn't that why she held the Huntsman heart? As a punishment for failure, yes, but also so she wouldn't be alone? Then again, maybe Belle was onto something about too much hassle...

Regina picked up a third spellbook and flipped through it briefly. She was about to snap it shut and chuck it against the abused wall when something in the margins caught her eye.

This was a green book, with 'VILEST CURSES IN CREATION' spelled out in dark letters across the front. Regina never really needed a curse to destroy something before. Little planning, little luck, two vipers, and a love-struck genie were all it took to get rid of Leopold. But this short paragraph showed potential:

> _**The Dark Curse, also known as The Final Curse, is quite literally the curse to end all curses. It's unknown whether it has ever been cast except for the first time a millennia ago, and only the vaguest of details are known about it. The curse-caster is the complete master, throwing the lives of every inhabitant of the realm into complete disarray....** _

And the note in the margins, written in her mother's careful scrawl, added further promise: _Total_ _destruction? Must ask for details._

Cora had only made notes like that to reference one person: _Belle_.

* * *

Red didn't really need her cape anymore, not since she learned to accept the wolf inside her. But it was still a convienient thing to wear when she _didn't_ want to be a werewolf, and it kept her warm in the winter. Besides, how was she Red _Riding Hood_ without her signature cape?

And if all the Dark One wanted from her was a batch of teacakes, far be it from Red to haggle for the repair job.

She baked them just like Granny had taught her, and glazed them once they cooled. Food was a bit scarce in the village she'd come to live in, but not as scarce as it had been when the Evil Queen was raiding it with her mother's old pack. Red had conflicting feelings about her mother and the wolves.

On one hand, Granny stole her from Anita and never told her about their genetic curse. That was wrong. But on the other hand, and while Red didn't necessarily think her mother was _evil_ , Anita was definitely a bit of an extremist. She took a firm 'you're either with us, or against us' stance, and tried to kill Snow for an accident with the Queen's guards.

In the end, Red could forgive both Lucas women. She knew they were stubborn bitches (in the canine sense, mind,) that didn't back down when they believed in something and loved with all their stout hearts. Red was one of them, after all, and weren't those were all reasons why she stood by Snow White and helped her set up her secret forest hideout?

The Dark One showed up in her little cottage when Red came back one evening. Belle was a rather pretty girl, but there was something creepy about how her skin looked like polished stone, and her eyes reflected no light. That and she was positively tiny, probably even shorter than Granny was.

"Thank you for the cake," she giggled, delicately nibbling on one. "Mmm. Y'know, when I gave Widow Lucas that cape, I traded it for a batch of teacakes too. These are a pretty close match."^"Um, thank you?" Red blinked.

"You are very welcome," the Dark One grinned, springing up from her chair and executing a little curtsy with the packed basket to one side. "I'll get out of your hair now. Sorry I had to leave mid-deal, but it was...urgent. Looks like Rumple's a lot more useful than drudge, hmm?"

A month and some later, Red still found herself still thinking back to her visit it the Dark Castle, and the Dark One's visit to her. Rumpelstiltskin didn't look like a frightened shell of a man, and if Red dared, she'd say, he was just shy. There were two plates of breakfast on the table, so he must've been eating. Why was the Dark One so kind to her slave? This had puzzled Red many times after, and once again she thought it over as she made her way home that evening.

The village was bigger than the one she grew up in, and got more visitors passing through, even in the middle of winter. As Red passed by the stables, a young boy chased a cat around the corner into the lantern-lit barn. "Dinah! Get back here, c'mon! You'll freeze out here, silly barn cat!"

Red smiled as the small gray cat scurried up to her feet. Apparently, little kitty-cats weren't afraid of werewolves. She bent down and scooped up the little ball of fluff before it could run off from the stable boy again. "Is this yours?"

"Oh thanks miss!" he grinned, extracting Dinah from her arms and tucking the cat into the crook of his elbow like a baby. "I've been chasing her around the stables for an hour!"

"Happy to help," Red grinned back. "Have a nice night you two."

Baelfire waved with his free hand to the tall girl in the red cloak as she went on her way. Then he looked down to the gray cat and booped it's nose. " _Now will you behave?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate Milah, really, but the only positive thing I can say about her is that she and Rumple really weren't compatible from the get-go, and they could have tried leaving the village. But then again, I hate Milah, So! If you feel sad that this chapter is short, have no fear! The Easter Bunny will be hopping by with two important chapters next week!
> 
> (Why the f*** is Easter in March this year?!! Do we have to dye green eggs now like in Peter Cottontail?!! Where is Irontail?!!)
> 
> Chapter XII: Belle's having a bad week, thieves and trespassers do not help, and poor "Rumbledethumps" is jut trying to hang on...


	12. XII. Yarn and Whiskey (pt. I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, moving into February at the Dark Castle, things began to change between Belle and Rumpelstiltskin...only for them to take a turn for the worse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where I live, some church group is holding an Easter Egg hunt _**in the church graveyard.**_
> 
> AGAIN.
> 
> Enjoy the update: By-the-by, alcoholism is not cool. I kept thinking about poor little Belle's liver while she was "Lacey", and how she was drinking in those heels.

Somethings never changed: The gray, wet weather of an Avonlea winter. Belle's wretched mood this time of year. And, subsequently, drinking until she couldn't see straight. Unfortunately, this year, she wasn't the sole occupant of the Dark Castle...

The other morning, Rumpelstiltskin brought up a plate for breakfast that, among other fixings, featured greasy sausages that turned her stomach just looking at them. Belle ordered him to take it away because she wasn't hungry. But _"Get me something that isn't drowning in grease if you can!"_ may have been a bit...harsh. Her caretaker nearly fell over and even when he did sit down, he'd sunk as far from her in his chair as he could.

_Oops._

Belle couldn't bear to face him a minute longer than that and swept up to her tower. Her head was throbbing, she was in no mood to deal with a skittish caretaker, and she just needed a damn drink! She spent the rest of the day alternately researching that same curse and sipping firewhiskey from the bottle.

Of course, that same day she caught a pair of would-be thieves trying to lay their sticky fingers on her Dark One dagger. Only two things kept Belle from turning them into fighting-fish and watching them duke it out in the same bowl.

For one thing, they were in possession of a fascinating gauntlet that led you to a person's greatest weakness. For another, she recognized the olive-skinned woman wearing it.

Guinevere, the lovely Queen of Camelot, neglected wife of that empty-headed plonker King Arthur. Belle took one look at the man with her (the Lady of the Lake's boy, Dance-a-lot? No, _Lancelot_ ,) and saw the whole story in their eyes: This was Gwen's last hope at fixing her shatter marriage, her last chance at getting Arthur back on the path of sanity, even though she'd long ago lost her love for him. It belonged to Lancelot now, who was faithfully here to protect his lady-love. (She should have spent less time stealing Belle's things and more time running away with him.)

That look in the Queen's eyes that spoke of a woman tired of duties she couldn't uphold anymore struck a chord with Belle, and she found herself making a deal: The gauntlet for some hallucinogenic sand to make everyone and Arthur think Excalibur was whole again.

Belle even warned them that this sort of drama never unfolded well. But they didn't listen. And if Camelot wasn't ruined within 24 hours, then Belle was a mermaid princess.

She returned to the library and found Rumpelstiltskin polishing tables. He looked up and gave her a timid little smile.

"Welcome back m'lady, will you want your tea in here or- _Uff_!"

Somehow he caught the gauntlet Belle chucked at him, mostly as it fell after hitting his chest, and Belle waved her hand dismissively. "Clean that. Leave it on my desk and I'll get it later."

Belle took a moment to pause, as she heard him quickly stumble off, if Mrs. 'Stiltskin was a snappy drunk bitch like Belle. Then she returned to her tower and attempted to kill that thought with another shot of whiskey...

* * *

The next day brought with it a new headache. Apparently Belle had done Queen Guinevere a bigger favor than she thought, as the girl-group of Maleficent, Cruella De Vil and Ursula must've had their eyes on it for some time. She caught a whiff of desperation and gin mixed with seasalt and sour attitude at the edge of her property, and teleported down there immediately. She hid for just a moment, trying to gauge the situation, before they said something about capturing her caretaker as a hostage.

Belle saw red. How dare they try to steal something that belongs to her? They should've tried to steal the damn gauntlet from Camelot themselves if they wanted it so much! Did they think she'd really give it to them for Rumpelstiltskin? He and that magic oven mitt _belonged to her_ , and if these three stupid bitches thought they could steal from Belle, they had another thing coming.

Maleficent was the only credible threat, so Belle squeezed her throat shut with magic and stormed out from her hiding place with hellfire in her eyes.

"If I ever see your face on my property again, I will plant you in my garden and make you Queens of Daffodils!"

She flung Maleficent away like a ragdoll and was smugly satisfied when they left. Quite quickly at that.

Belle returned to the library and found the polished gauntlet on her desk, and Rumpelstiltskin quietly sitting in his nook with the curtains for that particular window drawn back. The weak light filtering in through the half-cleaned windows irritated her, and so did the repetitive _click! click! click!_ of the pair of knitting needles Rumbledethumps found gods-knew-where, making gods-knew-what out of ugly yellow yarn. He looked up with that timid curiosity he seemed to regard her with most days now, and Belle felt her lips curl in a sneer.

 _What?_ Didn't peasants know it wasn't polite to stare? Belle knew damn well she looked like a shiny corpse with her white skin the texture of polished marble and lightless dead eyes. She wore piecemeal too-short dresses and flung her auburn hair up however sloppily she wanted, and she _never_ wore shoes. She didn't want to be pretty, she didn't want to be his damn Lady, and if he opened his mouth to speak to her she might just turn him into a snail to keep him from asking any stupid questions.

She snapped her fingers just as his mouth opened and the curtains closed on their own.

Belle left her darkened library for her darker-still tower and dug out a bottle of frostjack stronger than an Arendelle winter.

* * *

When Belle couldn't tell day from night in her dark, silent tower, and she'd had enough to drink that standing still on her feet became an impossibility, she sat down on the floor and closed her eyes.

She'd managed to go numb and fuzzy, the voices falling silent in her head, but it still wasn't enough to counter her weak, mortal mind's ability to dredge up the past and haunt her. She saw a towering bear of a man that she'd never quite grown tall enough not to be crushed in big-bear hugs. She heard a loving voice murming a story. Felt hands pawing at her while she was immobile. She could smell the acrid stench of blood and flesh and smoke on a battlefield long overgrown by time and neglect. She could taste tears rolling down her slick face until her eyelids felt lined with sandpaper.

She needed a little more to drink before it was all over. The curse of the Dark One meant she didn't really need sleep. If she was still enough long enough, drained of enough energy, she could fall asleep. Or she could drink enough liquor to drown a mortal woman her size and black out for a few hours.

Belle reached for a green-hued wine bottle nearby, but found it was disappointingly empty. How tragic. The next bottle was almost empty too, but had enough for a swallow or two that Belle took with partial gratitude, resigning herself to get up and rummage for a fuller bottle afterwards.

No sooner was the last of it down her throat than a timid knock sounded at the tower door.

"Go away!" Belle snapped at the caretaker on the other side. Hadn't she told that idiot not to come up to her tower? Shit. No, she told him not to go in her tower, meaning the door. Standing at the door knocking wasn't a violation of the rules. Damn it.

"M'lady," and Belle felt a darkness bubbling up in her chest she barely pushed down to keep from eviscerating the man where he stood at _that_ little reminder. "Do you want I should bring your supper up-"

The empty bottle in her hand shattered against the doorframe in a glittering burst of glass. "I said go away! Did I stutter? What the hell are you even doing out there anyway? Get the hell out right now before I turn you into a mop! Maybe you'd be more useful to me then, _you pathetic old cripple_!"

Belle heard a thunking, stumbling of footsteps and her brain caught up with her mouth. _Oh shit_. What had she just said to the only person in the entireity of the Enchanted Forest not to look upon her with thinly-veiled hate and revulsion?

She rapped her forehead roughly, curling up with her knees in front of her. "Stupid!" she knocked again, harder. "Stupid, stupid! Stupid and heartless and worthless!"

There was no use in feeling alone when she always pushed people away, was there?

* * *

Her head was spinning much too fast and everything was moving much too slow, too sharp, too fuzzy, all at once, and Belle wanted to get off this terrible ride. But she couldn't. She was riding inside her head, wasn't she? You can't get out of your own head, can you?

She shouldn't have mixed damson wine and firewhiskey. Both were enough to make straight hair curl, and together they could probably raise the dead. Phew. Wait. Where was she? In the library? Shit. Why did she always end up in the library after a bender? No, after a bender meant she was hungover. She was still quite drunk, stripped down to a thin, fitted blue shift with long midnight-blue sleeves, a neckline falling off her narrow shoulders, and a tight knee-length skirt. Where had her jerkin gone?

Belle laid on her side on the floor, feeling sickly and small, trying not to think about what had happened on this patch of floor some 300 years ago. She wasn't doing very well, but she wasn't crying yet. A voice murmured, "M'Lady? A-are you hurt, m'lady?"

For one crazy moment, Belle dared to hope it was a servant, waking her from a long, awful nightmare. But then she opened her eyes and it was Rumpelstiltskin, kneeling down and looking at her with a very worried look on his face. He shouldn't be worried like that. He should try to kill her, try to escape. She wouldn't mind if he did, the Ogres were long defeated, (not that she'd tell him that,) and he'd served her well despite what a terrible person she surely was. She was a bad person. Bad. Bad Belle.

"Belle?" he asked, reaching out with his long fingers and brushing a curtain of hair escape from her sloppy bun out of her damp face. His fingers brushed over her wet cheeks, slipping slightly on the china-like texture, but still wiping the tears away. She felt more tears falling simply from how sweet and gentle he was. "M'lady, what's the matter? What's happened?"

It was so ridiculous, she laughed. A hysterical version of her usual mad giggle that sounded chilling even to herself.

"I became the Dark One, of course!" Belle sat up, swaying so dangerously that Rumilplipins, Rombosizzling, shit, _Rumple_ , held her by one shoulder. "T'day's my birthday y'know. Today I'm three-hundred and...twenny-something! Three centuries of being the solitary, the hated, the world-infamous Dark One! Isn't that just _lovely_? An' did you know, too, that if you'd been the housekeeper here back then, you'd have had to mop the remains of my poor mother off this floor three-hundred and two years, one week from today off this very floor?"

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her with an almost blank face.

"So this is your castle?"

Belle had really expected something more panicky, or spiteful. She nodded woodenly and added: "My papa was the lord of Avonlea. He died in this castle too, in the dungeons three-hundred years and a...a week ago, I s'pose. I killed everyone in the new court and took the castle as my own. That's my story. Ugly isn't it?"

The caretaker's pretty brown eyes softened and he got to his feet, offering her his free hand while the other stubbornly held onto his stick. "Few interesting stories are pretty ones m'lady. Come along now, let's get you off the floor and warmed up, hmm?"

He spoke to her like a child, but Belle couldn't find the will to be angry. She let him pull her up, and somehow they didn't fall over as he pulled her over to a plump couch and got her to lay down, piling pillows behind her and gently plucking the pins out of her hair. That felt nice. He had clever fingers. Didn't pull her hair once, and Belle felt very limp and sleepy now.

Once she was lying boneless on the sofa, Rumpelstiltskin sat on the arm of the couch and used one hand to pet her tangled hair. She surely looked a mess, all unwashed, uncombed hair and dark bruises under her eyes. She may have purred a little when his fingertips strayed over her face or neck, his rough hands soft, and Belle tried to wrap her heavy head around that.

Rumpelstiltskin began humming, softly, and Belle was certain she purred then, closing her eyes as waves of warm, contented bliss bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. Her shy little caretaker had a beautiful voice, all warm and soft, like a blanket cuddling her intoxicated ears. Between the petting and the humming, and at some point between a lazy melody and the lilting tune of her clockwork-nightingale, she drifted into the first restful sleep she'd felt in years...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damson wine, in case anyone cares to know, is a creation from the Redwall series which, if my memory serves, is "strong enough to curl your whiskers". Redwall is awesome, by the way, and if you've never heard of it but dig the Lord of the Rings-style fantasy, you NEED to check it out. Now! Go! BEHOLD THE GLORY OF THE BADGER LORDS AND THEIR PERILOUS HARES!!!
> 
> Chapter XIII: In which Rumpelstiltskin spins yarn, frets for his mistress, and comes to a realization or two in the library. Or, Rumple's POV.


	13. XIII. Yarn and Whiskey (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle's mood and temper deteriorated, and her caretaker Rumpelstiltskin realized something was wrong...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what the Easter Bunny brought you, the last chapter from Rumple's POV! Devour it now as you stuff your face with Reese's Eggs and Peeps, or later after the hour of Captain Yawn's latest codependent fumble we're forced to watch to get a glimpse of more important things, while eating a chocolate bunny aggressively!
> 
> HAPPY EASTER!!!!

It was rather amazing how different a winter here was than at home. To Rumpelstiltskin's calculations, he'd been gone...roughly three months, from the Frontlands. He left in mid-late November, and it was now the beginning of February. The weather here was the way it was in early April back home: Still cold, but raining instead of snowing. It sometimes froze, leaving Rumpelstiltskin to hang the laundry in the warm kitchens to dry instead of fighting with numb fingers outside on the clotheslines.

However, as mild as the winter was...his mistress didn't seem as inclined.

The other morning, after she had missed eating the day before, Belle appeared for their breakfast in a sullen sort of mood. She was dressed severely in a black jerkin and a dove-gray cotton blouse trimmed with white lace that, if he looked closely, resembled skulls held together with a flowery chain. Her mouth was set in a grim line and her eyes seemed even duller than usual, studying the tap of her blood-red fingernail ticking against the tabletop.

Their Silent Breakfasts had always been stiff, but now they were tense too. He set down the plate of eggs, toast, and sausage in front of her, and went to sit down when she snapped, "Take this away."

"M'lady-" he turned, half-finished asking her what it was she didn't like on the plate. The toast was a bit lighter than she normally liked it, he would admit. And perhaps she didn't care for sausages like he did?

"Get me something that isn't drowning in grease if you can!" she snapped, and Rumpelstiltskin felt his heart leap into his throat.

After three-and-some months, just when he was starting to see a person underneath the reputation, The Dark One was back with a vengeance. He scurried back to the kitchen and remade the eggs and toast, choosing a pit of strawberry preserves instead of a meat to go on the plate and get it back quickly. When he brought it back, he sat down without another incident, but kept his head down and tried to draw as little attention as possible. Just because the Dark One didn't send it away again, didn't mean she wasn't still angry.

True enough, Belle stormed out after a handful of minutes, leaving him alone in the Great Room with a now unappetizing half-eaten plate staring up at him.

After cleaning up after breakfast and tending to the most important of the daily chores, Rumpelstiltskin left a lunch and tea tray on the Great Room table. Then he went up to the room with the silver spinning wheel in it, and sat at the stool he'd pulled up beside it and settled in to finish off his spinning.

At home, Rumpelstiltskin had special brushes for carding wool into fluffy tufts. Here, he'd gotten creative with a pair of mismatched ladies hairbrushes and was quite pleased with the result. Of course, the myriad of colors in the old yarn was blended together. All the different shades of wool had merged into one mostly uniform basket of bronzy fluff that Rumpelstiltskin supposed could be called golden, in a certain light. It looked pretty filling up the spool, and while he spun he let his mind wander to what he would make with such an unusual color.

He already made a scarf and mittens from the good yarn, and it seemed a waste to use such a color to make stockings. Rumpelstiltskin wasn't much of a hat person. There wasn't quite enough to make a blanket...hmm...an image came to mind, then, of a yellowed lace-knit shawl Arachne had never gone without in the colder months, and requested to be buried in when she died because she didn't want to traverse the afterlife without it. (A funny old bird, Arachne was, but he honored her request and carefully arranged it around her thin shoulders before she was laid to rest.) He'd tried to make a shawl like that for Milah, but she never wore it, and it just sat collecting dust in a cedar chest.

However, now that the idea was in the spinner's head, he couldn't quite shake it. Maybe if he made it rectangular enough, it could pass for a small throw blanket too...

He stopped spinning after awhile and checked the Great Room. Belle hadn't touched the lunch, so he returned the things to the kitchen and set dinner to simmer on the stove. As he headed up to the library to polish the tables, he wondered if she'd gone out to deal. He was in the process of polishing a table near her desk, stripped to his rolled-up shirtsleeves and vest, when Belle came throw carrying some sort of iron and leather glove. A gauntlet, he supposed. Belle looked a bit thoughtful, and Rumpelstiltskin hoped it was like normal and dealing with whomever she'd gotten it from had brightened her spirits a bit.

He managed a timid shadow of a smile, really hoping she felt better than she had in recent days. "Welcome back m'lady, will you take your tea in here or-" the carelessly thrown gauntlet hit him square in the chest. " _Uff_!"

Definitely a gauntlet. It was much too heavy to be a glove.

"Clean that," Belle ordered brusquely. "Leave it on my desk and I'll get it later."

Clearly she was still in a bad mood, so Rumpelstiltskin hurried off to do as she commanded. He didn't necessarily think she'd torture him, but even back when Milah had liked him, there was a certain time every month where she was prone to flying off the handle for so much as scraping his spoon against the bowl too much. Maybe that's what was wrong here? Although it felt like it had been going on longer, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask the Dark One if "her cycle" was bothering her.

He ate the leftover sandwiches from Belle's uneaten lunch and finished off his spinning before bed, keeping his head down the whole time.

* * *

The next day, once the most important chores were done, Rumpelstiltskin sat down on the window seat he'd discovered in the library and drew back the curtains. Faint, pale light spilled in from the window he cleaned as high as he could reach sitting on his knees, illuminating the faint sparkle in the tiled floor. One of the reasons Rumpelstiltskin like this nook so much was that he could read in the daylight, and today he felt daring enough to fully draw back the curtains.

There had been a pair of ebony knitting needles in one of the upstairs rooms, and he put them to work laying the first chain in the blanket. Shawl. Whatever it was. The clicking of needles wasn't quite as soothing as the creak of a spinning wheel, but it was steady and rhythmic and Rumpelstiltskin made good time.

He looked up when he noticed the Dark One was staring at him.

While he didn't hear her come in, Rumpelstiltskin was getting used to her randomly popping up all over the place. He steadied the jump in his pulse (an automatic reaction rather than one of fear, really,) and inhaled slowly, hoping that the open curtains hadn't enraged her when he saw Belle's colorless lips twist in a cold sneer.

The spinner was about to ask if she'd like him to close the curtains when she snapped her fingers and they flopped shut, separating them in a heavy swoosh of dark velvet.

Him in his cozily lit little corner, and her in her big dark library...

* * *

With four days of not seeing hide nor hair of his mistress, four days of not so much as a crumb out of place on the plates he left in the Great Room, a sip taken from the tea, Rumpelstiltskin became worried.

Even when he first came here, the Dark One wasn't this reclusive.

Rumpelstiltskin had found it troubling enough that his nerves crept up on him. He'd run out of improvised wool to spin, so he spent his insomniac episodes knitting by the moonlight. He'd finished that on the fourth afternoon, having made an overlarge shawl (or perhaps a small blanket,) with a knit lace pattern, and soft fringe hanging off the edges. He left it folded in a neat square, tucked away in his nook.

But with that out of the way, Rumpelstiltskin found himself, somehow, standing at the bottom of Belle's tower contemplating the exact wording of the one set-in-stone rule of the Dark Castle: _Don't go in the tower_.

To his surprise, he found himself leaning in the direction of those words meaning _'Do not enter the tower workroom'_ instead of _'Do not ascend into the tower'_. So he ascended the tower steps (gods there were a lot of those!) and wound up staring, again, at the imposing wooden door carved with hundreds of minute runes to protect against...well, anything he supposed. Gods knew what happened in there.

Then Rumpelstiltskin knocked. Twice. And prepared to bolt--

"Go away!" Belle's voice snarled from inside, sounding very strong and very angry.

"Oh thank gods," Rumpelstiltskin's shoulders slumped with relief. He'd been starting to think she'd left the castle, or was lying in there unconscious. Louder, he cleared his throat and asked: "M'lady, do you want I should bring your supper up-"

Something crashed against the door violently, and the Dark One shouted, "I said go away! Did I stutter? What the hell are you even doing out there anyway? Get the hell out right now before I turn you into a mop! Maybe you'd be more useful to me then, you pathetic old cripple!"

Rumpelstiltskin ran down the stairs so quickly he'd have thought he'd been cured of his limp by the grace of the gods just to survive the encounter. Whatever was wrong with his mistress, clearly it was beyond mortal help at the moment...

* * *

Without spinning or knitting to take up his time, Rumpelstiltskin found himself stripped down to his wool trousers and untucked shirt staring up at the ceiling above his bed. Something was very wrong with Belle, but coward he was, he sure as hell wasn't going to ask what it was. Not if he valued his life. At the same time it was bothering him enough that he couldn't sleep on it, so, getting to his bare feet, he limped downstairs to the library to fetch a book.

He found Belle there, too.

She was lying on the floor in a dark blue shift with red thread at the seams being the only accessory to an otherwise plain outfit. His mistress was curled on her side, quietly sobbing, and while a braver man might try to slay the beast...well, Rumpelstiltskin wasn't that brave. Instead, he knelt down and tried to see if she was hurt anywhere, but lacking blood, he pushed the loose hair from her wet face and brushed away the excess moisture.

"Belle?" he forgot himself and her title for a moment. "M'lady, what's the matter? What's happened?"

She gave a laugh that was more of a sob, bolting upright so quickly Rumpelstiltskin put a hand on her shoulder so she wouldn't fall over.

"I became the Dark One, of course!" She declared with an ugly smile. "T'day's my birthday y'know. Today I'm three-hundred and...twenny-something! Three centuries of being the solitary, the hated, the world-infamous Dark One! Isn't that just _lovely_? An' did you know, too, that if you'd been the housekeeper here back then, you'd have had to mop the remains of my poor mother off this floor three-hundred and two years, one week from today off this very floor?"

_Shit._

Rumpelstiltskin supposed, with that set of revelations, he should be horrified. He should be revolted. Instead he just blurted: "So this is your castle?"

Belle's head bobbed up and down like a floating cork. "My papa was the lord of Avonlea. He died in this castle too, in the dungeons three-hundred years and a...a week ago, I s'pose. I killed everyone in the new court and took the castle as my own. That's my story. Ugly isn't it?"

She looked like she was about to cry again and Rumpelstiltskin was very much aware that she just confessed to mass-murder...but at the same time, he could completely understand why she was three sheets to the wind tonight, and so bitter and angry lately. It was one of those moments where you hurt so much and were so helpless you needed an outlet for it. For him it was always spinning, but Milah's out had been hanging around the tavern drinking, gambling, _and_ flirting, or just trying to make him hurt the way she did. He was glad Belle was just drunk.

He could help with that.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled and staggered to his feet, offering his mistress a hand up. "Few interesting stories are pretty ones m'lady," and wasn't that a summary for his life? "Come along now, let's get you off the floor and warmed up, hmm?"

Belle let him pull her up, so incredibly childlike as she clung to his side that it was hard to remember she was the Dark One for a moment. Rumpelstiltskin just wanted to get her off the cold stone floor, pillows propping her up a touch, and took the pins out of her tangled hair. He ran his fingers over it, noticing how limp the curls hung. It would seem Belle had been on one hell of a bender these past four days (more like two weeks, if he thought about it,) if the sorceress that prided herself on her patchwork dresses and neatly painted nails had completely neglected herself. She was practically purring under his touch, and that was...odd.

Then again, the Dark One didn't seem to get very much in the way of friendly contact.

She could be very tactile, Rumpelstiltskin had noticed. But he doubted anyone liked being touched by the Dark One, or returned such a favor. So he perched on the arm of the sofa behind her, petting her hair and humming this and that. Belle fell into a deep sleep somewhere between a lullaby that always quieted Bae as an infant and the tune her clockwork-nightingale played, looking for all the world like a lovely porcelain doll.

Rumpelstiltskin, on a whim, brought out the blanket/shawl he'd finished knitting. He tucked it snugly around her, finding it covered up to the waist of his little mistress. A perfect fit. If Belle wanted, she could keep it. What had she said when they talked about Cora awhile back?

_**Evil isn't born, it's made.** _

He had no idea what made Belle. Between fits of temper and brooding, she had these flashes of being such a bright, caring person. And Regina, when she'd been talking with Belle in front of that mirror (come to think of it, that was the only mirror he'd ever seen in the Dark Castle... _ever_ ,) had seemed so bitter and...resigned. Like people had told her she was evil and cruel so much that she just embraced the role. He'd like to think with magic powers, he'd make good choices. Perhaps he could've ended the Ogre War himself.

But then what?

He couldn't say that if he had the means, he wouldn't turn the Hordors and Hooks of the world into fat, slimy slugs and crush them under his boots. He couldn't say he wouldn't want revenge on people like the Duke and his men, who made the Frontlands hell on earth. Or the neighbors that were so hateful because he _didn't_ die on a battlefield as an unidentifiable corpse when all their sons and fathers and daughters did-

No.

Rumpelstiltskin had always had very twitchy fingers, as Belle pointed out too. That was good for when he had something to do, he could get it done quickly, but when they were idle? His hands didn't idle well. _He_ didn't idle well. Him with magic would be as bad, or worse, than a Dark One.

As it stood now he could only protect his son from Hordor and the Duke by making this deal with Belle. He sure as hell couldn't play the hero and try to save her from whatever malicious force had made her the Dark One, could he?

**But he could let her keep a homemade blanket, if she wanted it...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: My family drove ourselves batty this week trying to remember what the _Schoolhouse Rock_ song "Mr. Morton" was about. But watching the cartoon suddenly gave me an attack of Rumbelle feels that may or may not pan out, so quick! Everyone check it out and tell me what you think!
> 
> Chapter XIV: Bae asks for directions, a short conversation with long-term consequences, and Belle gets an Unbirthday present...


	14. XIV. Fallout and Falling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin realized that each of them is damaged, but not broken, when she becomes drunk on a terrible anniversary...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know what I love about the OUAT fandom? I'm partial to the Rumbelle side, of course, but even the odd Captain Swan fic I've bumbled over in passing, or Snowing or OutlawQueen or what have you canonically, is _sooo_ much better than what's presented in-show. So can't we all put aside our inter-ship hatred ( _you know who you are_ ) and embrace the fact that we know our characters better than the show-writers do?
> 
> Inspirational Time with Princes and Savages is over, now read on to see hangover!Belle and some more of Nealfire's Quest!

Belle woke up in her pitch-black library with a throbbing head, a dry mouth, and a roiling stomach that couldn't seem to make up it's mind whether or not she was going to puke. One would think with a reputation of being so intelligent, Belle would remember that hangovers from fortnight-long binges seldom felt good.

This year was just another example how wrong she was, apparently.

It took Belle another moment or three to realize she was lying on one of the library sofas, with a few pillows at her back propping her up comfortably, and a blanket drawn over the top of her.

Belle couldn't remember ever seeing (thank gods for the excellent night-vision of the Dark One,) a blanket like this before in her castle. It was very pretty, a pattern of knitted lace with thick, soft fringe around the edges and...well she couldn't tell the color, but the yarn was still so soft and warm Belle wrapped it around herself like a cloak as she got up and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen.

She'd make herself a hot cup of tea, and then recuperate in her chambers until she was fit to be around human beings again. Namely Rumpelstiltskin, who, in a perfect world, she should apologize to for whatever hell she put him through the past two weeks or so. (Who was she kidding? In a perfect world, he wouldn't even be her captive-caretaker!)

Belle gathered her new blanket-shawl around her tighter, squeezing her eyes shut at a shaft of light beaming through a high window in one of the halls. Had she drunkenly dealt for this? Where had it come from? At least it was cozy.

Belle puzzled this so much that she almost missed the fact, as she walked through the kitchen doors, that she was no longer alone.

Rumpelstiltskin was just lifting a whistling kettle off the stove, and once he set it down he noticed her. His brown eyes had no trace of fear, not a bit, for the first time in...well ever, actually. Belle wondered if it was her achy head that thought his chocolatey-brown eyes with their hint of golden brown looked so much better unafraid. With that shy little smile causing just the amount of creases at the corners, and gentle laugh lines.

Definitely the hangover, had to be.

"Would you like your tea a different way this morning, m'lady?" he asked kindly, limping around and pulling a plain wooden stool out for her to sit on at the kitchen island.

Belle thought the last time she sat at this island, she'd been nine. Nibbling a cookie a kindly kitchen maid slipped her. _'Well this should be interesting,'_ she thought, sitting down and focusing her attention on the tea pouring into her cup.

"Just a little milk please," Belle answered. Was that the first time she'd said 'please' with Rumpelstiltskin? "No food yet though, either. I don't feel inclined to choke something down only for it to return with a vengeance."

 _"_ Very wise," Rumpelstiltskin nodded as he poured in the milk and stirred. "You may be pleased to know that I haven't had many hangovers in my life, so I won't be trying any hair-of-dog cures on you this morning."

" _Oh thank gods_." She was only half-joking.

He handed her the cup and Belle "accidentally" let her fingers brush his. More out of curiosity than anything. His fingers were warm and rough, where hers were so cold and sleek. Rumpelstiltskin didn't seem to mind, and without comment, poured his own cup of plain black tea. He was drinking out of the chipped cup again. One day Belle would have to ask about his attachment to that thing.

But first...

Belle felt herself biting her lip and forcibly spit it from between her teeth. "So...uh...I don't remember much of last night...but _how_ did I end up in the library?"

Her caretaker took a sip of tea, mindful to keep the chipped part of the rim away from his lip. "I found you down there when I went to get a book. I got you off the floor onto the couch and left you to sleep. I was going to bring your tea in there, I thought you would have slept longer."

"Yes well," she shrugged. "I'm the Dark One. Perks of dark magic and all, quick healer. Hangovers are a bit touch and go, of course, so...the tea is appreciated."

That may have been the lamest _'thank you'_ in the history of ever.

But Rumpelstiltskin just smiled. A simple, full smile, and he nodded understandingly. "I'll take your word for it m'lady. You can keep that if you want to."

"What?"

"That blanket," he uncurled a finger from around the cup to point. "Though it is a bit small to be a blanket, but I thought it was too big to be a shawl-"

"You made this?" Belle cut in, running an idle hand over the soft surface. "How?"

Rumpelstiltskin's smile widened into the smallest, shyest grin she'd ever seen, perhaps with just a touch of smirking mischief. If a man nearing fifty could look cute, Belle thought to herself, looking down at her tea, her caretaker managed it.

"I found a spinning wheel upstairs, it looks like it's made of solid silver. I took that old yarn that I couldn't use and picked it into bits with a comb, then I used a pair of brushes to card it into tufts and spin it. The shade just looks gold because of all the different colors mixed in. It doesn't really look like your Golden Fleece, but I think it's nice work all the same," Rumpelstiltskin explained it all without a stutter or a pause, and Belle thought he stood a little taller even if he was leaning one hip against the counter for support, until he sort of humorously waved a hand at her. "Whatever it is. Uh, like I said, you could keep it if you want...a sort of, um, an Unbirthday Present? Isn't that a thing in some lands?"

Belle snorted into her teacup. Wonderland-to most learned or experienced individuals,-was not a wonderland at all.

Magic mushrooms, drugged-out caterpillars, bloodthirsty queens, and too many evil bunny-rabbits for Belle's taste. When Jefferson was an active portal-jumper before his retirement, Belle made sure to tip extra well for anything from that world, something Jefferson actually hugged her over once. (A very odd-but-dear fellow, Jefferson, perhaps she should pay him a visit soon, he made for good company and he shared her affinity for good tea.)

And at the same time...since her birthday, technically, was yesterday, Belle didn't see why she couldn't just call it a belated birthday present. It had been three hundred years or so since she'd gotten one of those...and it wouldn't be so bad to pretend Rumpelstiltskin had given it to her with that sweetly crooked little grin...

"Wonderland is a multicolored hell," she smiled over the rim of her cup. "But I accept the gesture all the same, Rumple."

* * *

With the exception of the time he'd knocked the clockwork-nightingale off the pedestal in the Great Room and had to reassemble it (which worked, thank the _gods_!), and when his first attempt at a cake turned out to be a dense, hard mess that he buried in the empty garden, Rumpelstiltskin didn't keep secrets from his mistress. (He figured it was folly for one thing, and for another if she found out she'd likely flay the hide from his bones.) But he'd gladly keep this secret to his gave.

He'd given the Dark One a birthday present.

And she _liked_ it.

She was careful not to let him know she liked it, but he knew it anyway, and...he didn't mind. It wasn't like Milah's mind-games, it was more like she didn't know how to handle kindness. Rumpelstiltskin could understand that perfectly.

All while they stood there, Belle kept brushing her fingers over the shawl (he decided it was a shawl since Belle also kept it wrapped around her the whole time,) and playing with the fluffy fringe. His ankle began to protest from the standing after awhile though, and the cold floor wasn't doing any good either, so he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the counter the way Belle usually did in the Great Room.

Unfortunately he forgot two things: The first being, rather ironically as his feet were cold, was that he wasn't fully dressed. He had his pants on, but his dark red shirt was untucked and unbuttoned at the collar, and he had nothing on his feet.

The second he was reminded up sharply at Belle's gasp and he automatically looked down at his feet.

The left looked normal. Maybe a touch narrower than the typical male foot, but then again he was a small man. The right...was not normal at all. Inside it was all twisted, half-healed bones and knotted muscle, rolling towards the outside in a relaxed position but with the toes crooking inward. The skin covering it was a mix of pinkish, reddish-purple, and dark splotches, slightly puffy with poor circulation, and covered up to his lumpy ankle in ugly white and brown scar tissue.

Really it was a wonder he could walk at all, something the worst bullies in his village frequently threatened to fix for him.

"Does..." Belle blinked, setting her tea down on the saucer. "Would it be terribly naïve of me to ask if it hurts you?"

Rumpelstiltskin huffed through his nose. "Not always. Sometimes it throbs, sometimes it's sore, but it doesn't hurt as bad as it looks." And it didn't...but then again he'd lived with it for fourteen years or so.

Belle finally tore her eyes from it and met his eyes. Her flat eyes looked...Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure what that emotion was. He didn't recall seeing it before. "You said it was a...a _war injury_?"

Rumpelstiltskin licked his lips. "Y-yeah...uh...th-the Seventh Ogre War started about fifteen years ago, yeah? So...a little less than that, and I was drafted."

"You are very lucky," Belle exhaled. "There are much worse-"

"I never even _saw_ an Ogre m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin felt his short-lived confidence melting, his shoulders hunching again at her misconception. Like he could hide from the shame. "I...I deserted..."

"Your superiors did that to you? I though the army was strict 300 years ago!"

The spinner snorted. "I wish it were that easy, n-no, I...I did it myself. They gave me twenty lashes on my back, bound it up so I could limp home, and that's sort of the end of Rumpelstiltskin the Brave Soldier. I'm the village coward back home. The only choice I ever had was which corner of the room to hide in..."

"Oh none of that, please," Belle sniffed, picking up her tea again with an annoyed expression Rumpelstiltskin didn't feel offended by. He just didn't understand it. "I bet you were the only survivor of the whole battle, right? Well that's because you chose not to go on a suicide mission. I won't say it was bravery to crush your own foot like that, but a coward couldn't do _that_ to himself. Besides, you had the choice of volunteering or keeping quiet when I showed up. You volunteered. Not every man who runs into battle blindly is a brave man Rumple, sometimes the bravest man is the one who knows when _not_ to fight."

Rumpelstiltskin blinked, then looked down at his chipped teacup. "If that's true m'lady...then I should be a lot braver than I feel."

Belle reached out and squeezed his forearm for a brief second. She was tactile, wasn't she? "The brave don't feel brave. They just do the brave thing, and hope bravery will follow."

Well...there might be some truth to that then. He had protected his son, hadn't he?

* * *

With the paths out of the village still frozen and blocked with snow, Bae took this time to count out how much money he had and plan where to head next in the thaw. He'd lost a bit of his pay in food and some expenses, especially halfway through the long three months he'd spent here, when his slightly-snug boots had grown painfully too small and needed to be replaced. But there was still a little more money than he and Papa had saved in their cottage spread out in front of him, which would serve him well, if he were careful.

Their village had been very poor, even before Baelfire was born, Papa said. Some of them could read, more of them could do figures, but most of their neighbors were illiterate and never bothered to learn anything more than what they had to. Sheep farmers learned about sheep, bakers learned to bake, and the blacksmith always had one or two apprentices underfoot.

But Papa was smart. He could spin, he could weave, he could sew, and he could knit. He'd taught Bae how to spin, but Bae had never been able to make much more than chunky mostly-even yarn and twine. Bae could sew well though, something he never understood other village boys laughing at.

And Papa had taught him numbers so he wouldn't be swindled at the market, which would come in handy now especially. Papa was also one of the few in their village that could read more than his own name (if that,) and Bae had been delighted that he had what he regarded as a special talent once Papa showed him his letters too. Mama had said that it was silly since they couldn't afford books to read, but Bae knew while Mama could draw beautiful pictures, she couldn't even write her own name. Papa always distracted Bae away from talking about letters to Mama, and now that he was older, Bae sort of realized that his mother...was really _bad_ to Papa. Not that he remembered much of her anyway.

But sums, letters, and parenting wasn't the issue here so much as geography. Bae didn't know where the Dark One had taken his father. And the rumors in the tavern and whispered in the dark corners of towns were zero help either. Help came from the most unexpected source, though...

The tall young woman with the dark hair and the fancy red cape was named Red. Bae knew that because a lot of guys in the tavern where the boy went to fetch his dinner talked about her. (Not all of it was polite.) She was a stranger in town over the winter, just like Bae, and while he hadn't really talked to her since she'd caught the new barn cat, Dinah, he had seen her around. She went out at night sometimes, which was weird, but she was very nice.

Bae heard a rumor going around that someone had seen the Dark One leave her home one evening weeks ago. Nobody took it too seriously, since the Dark One wasn't to be mentioned since she turned all the Ogres ravaging the Frontlands into butterflies and people were hyperaware of her presence at the moment.

But Baelfire was not most people, and he tracked down where Red lived.

Red answered the door without her cape on. She had long dark hair and bright green eyes and white teeth that made up a large, toothy smile. "Oh, you're the stable boy, right? I've seen you around. I'm Red."

"Baelfire," he replied, his manners kicking in. "Can I ask you something Miss Red?"

"Just Red is fine," she smiled, but it wavered a bit. "Whatcha wanna know?"

Bae took a deep breath. "I heard that the Dark One visited you awhile ago. Did you summon her, or did you go visit her at her castle?"

Red looked at him for a long moment, then narrowed her eyes critically. For a scary second, Bae thought she was going to accuse him of something, and slam the door in his face, or shout that it was none of his business. This had happened before in a village he passed through before winter.

"Why do you want to see the Dark One?" she asked, instead, and Bae released the breath trapped in his lungs. She was asking him almost like a warning, but she wasn't shutting him out yet.

"The Dark One took my father and I'm going to find him. How do I get to the Dark Castle?"

Red pursed her lips. "Should...shouldn't you be at home? With your mother?"

"Papa's the only family I have left. And he did this to save me, but I'm not going to leave him alone with the Dark One either. Do you _know_ the way to the Dark Castle?"

The young woman hesitated a moment longer, looking like she was contemplating something. Bae felt desperation nudging the back of his mind and shifted from foot to foot anxiously. "He's about fifty years old? Kind of short, slight, with a limp? He's got dark eyes like me and kinda shaggy light brown hair-"

Green eyes flew wide open. " _Rumpelstiltskin_?"

" _Yes_! That's Papa-"

Red grabbed Bae by his shirtfront and yanked him through the door.

* * *

Maleficent spent most of her time lurking in her castle like the dragon she could turn into when the mood struck her. Her visitors were usually evil magic-practitioners, if any. Regina was a particular favorite, as they had a good bit of common ground, even though Regina had first come to her as a fairly innocent young woman with braids and riding breeches. As she'd fully embraced her "Evil Queen" role thesedays, Regina preferred velvets and silks and elaborate hairstyles only accomplished with magic, and lost some of herself along the way.

But Regina was not her visitor.

Maleficent could honestly, in fact, say this was a first: Rheul Gorm visiting Maleficent.

Not many magic-wielders liked the simpering Blue Fairy. She packed a lot of condescending superiority into that tiny glowing frame. Fortunately enough for Maleficent, the Blue Fairy's biggest enemies were Regina and Belle, and as she hadn't done much in the past half-century beyond putting a sleeping curse on King Stefan's wife and daughter, (respectively,) she was low on the list of Fairies Most Wanted.

The Blue Fairy sat primly on an hourglass sitting on the table, making it a makeshift stool so she wouldn't have to "get big". Her wings twitched behind her and she smoothed her jellyfish-like skirts, lifting her chin, "I've heard the Queens of Darkness had a run-in with the Dark One herself recently," she began almost conversationally. Maleficent held in a sigh. While it was always nice to have a visitor, (it did get lonely here, perhaps she should get a pet? A cat maybe, or something more exotic?) sometimes they were dreadfully see-through: I need you to do something for me.

There was a reason she never made deals with Belle, she understood how dreadfully dull it was.

"Mm, my fault I suppose," Maleficent smiled coolly. "I let Cruella and Ursula talk me into it. We miscalculated the range of Belle's wards I suppose. What about it?"

"What were you planning to do, exactly? Rob her?"

"Did you hit your head flying in through the window? Nobody robs the Dark One without paying one hell of a price."

The Blue Fairy made no comment.

"Why are you here Rheul Gorm? What is it you want to know?"

The fairy chieftan shifted on the hourglass. "I've heard some interesting things about the Dark One lately. Did you know she'd taken on a servant? You wouldn't have taken him hostage by any chance, would you? Belle is quite possessive about her things."

Maleficent shrugged. "While that was the plan, I never even saw the boy. We hardly got one foot over the property line before Belle threw us out. Why? Did she kidnap some young lordling for a bedwarmer?"

That was unlikely: Belle didn't handle her loneliness through hormones, she handled it in writing and research.

The Blue Fairy fluttered into the air then, fingering her shiny wand. "Not quite a lordling, but I shudder at what the Dark One would have a man completely under her thrall do. Thank you for your time, Maleficent."

She flitted out whichever way she flew in, leaving Maleficent sitting in her comfortable armchair. While the dragon sorceress wasn't going to re-test Belle's patience, suddenly Maleficent felt a flicker of pity. Not so much for what Belle was doing to the man...

_**More for the man now that the Blue Fairy was involved...** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My opinion of the Blue Fairy wasn't very high from the moment I saw Tinkerbell's backstory. As you can tell, my opinion hasn't improved. :)
> 
> Chapter XV: In which Red returns a favor, Belle catches up on some business and gets a bit of lost property returned to her, and Rumpelstiltskin finds himself in a bind...


	15. XV. Ripped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Rumple and Belle came to a tentative understanding, the Blue Fairy gets suspicious, and Red Riding Hood receives a visitor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question! I have nothing personal against people who like a character I don't like, but do Zelena fans keep forgetting that Baby HOOD belongs to Robin HOOD, too? She tricked him "into it" by posing as his wife in the first place, sooo...I don't think she has too much of aleg to stand on. But, if she stopped trying to kidnap the baby and sat down for a few dozen sessions with Dr. Hopper, Zelena would find all parties more open to letting her be a mother.
> 
> Things would be so much cleaner on this show if they actually used the town psychiatrist they literally wrote for the show...

Red Riding Hood had seen the stable boy around town plenty of times. He was a bit small, honestly, a wiry boy of roughly fourteen with fluffy dark curls, olive skin, and dark brown eyes, wearing worn, patchy clothing and a tattered cloak. The only time she'd actually spoken to him was when she caught the barn cat he was chasing after one night.

The rumor around town was that he was just passing through, staying the winter. But then, here he was, on her doorstep, asking for directions to the Dark Castle with a mix of trepidation and stubbornness.

"Rumpelstiltskin is your father?" Red repeated, and the boy nodded quickly behind her closed door. "Gods boy, why are you out here?"

"Like I said, I'm looking for the Dark Castle," Baelfire said impatiently. "Papa's the only family I have, and I'm the only person he's got. I'm not going to stay behind while he's slaving for the Dark One!"

Red wondered where this stubborn little thing got his spine from. Clearly it wasn't from Rumpelstiltskin...although, then again, the elder _was_ the servant of the Dark One. That took some stones.

"Look, okay, I get it, but Belle is _the Dark One_ , and you can't interfere in a deal with the Dark One, without some _very_ dire consequen-"

"I'm not going to _interfere_ ," Bae said, filing the Dark One's name away for later. "When I find the Dark Castle, I'll ask the Dark One to let me stay with Papa. I won't abandon him, so either tell me where he is, or I'll just keep looking myself."

Red sighed, running a hand through her dark hair. "Alright, I'll tell you where the Dark Castle is-on one condition."

Bae nodded.

The taller girl bent down to look into his dark brown eyes. "If you deal with the Dark One, remember the most important rule: Never, ever offer her 'anything'. The last thing you want is to give her a carte-blanche over your life. Do you understand Baelfire?"

The boy nodded gravely, looking so serious for a child that Red wondered what, exactly, the whole story of the caretaker and his son was. "Yes ma'am."

Red hesitated only a moment more, before taking out a sheet of paper and a quill. Within half an hour, she had drawn out a rough map and directions, rolled up like a scroll, and placed it in Baelfire's waiting hands.

"This is a map to the castle. I'm not the best map-maker in the world, but it should get you there. Just promise that you'll remember what I said, and don't head out until it stops freezing, alright? I met your father in the castle, and I doubt he'd forgive me if his son showed up with frostbit toes on my watch."

Baelfire nodded, tucking the roll into a pocket under his ratty cloak.

"Um...d-did..." he hesitated for the first time Red had spoken to him. "Is Papa okay? Is he...hurt?"

Red thought back on it. "No, I mean, he was very quiet, I didn't even notice he was there at first, but he didn't act like he was being tortured. He actually sewed up a rip in my cloak for me when the Dark One had to leave."

She motioned to her scarlet cloak spread out on the table nearby, and Bae curiously inspected it. He noticed the nearly invisible bit of mending near the bottom and grinned at the handiwork.

"That's definitely my papa," he beamed up at her. "Thank you for the map, Red. I won't forget it!"

He bolted out the door and scurried down the snowy street. Behind him, Red stuck her head out the door and shouted, "Remember what I told you Baelfire! Don't promise anything and don't you dare leave before the last frost!"

Watching his cloak flap behind him as he blazed down the street...Red felt like she'd just done something important.

* * *

With her hair curling over her shoulder in a loose braid, Belle was dressed in a simple beige skirt divided into uneven patches by navy thread, with a comfortable sleeveless bodice with a sweetheart-neckline, with tan cotton and blue velvet stripes on the lace-up-the-front bodice. It was the simplest gown Rumpelstiltskin had seen yet, with just a hint of dark blue lace along her comparatively modest neckline, her fingers and toes painted with a strawberry-cream colored polish. Her teacup was steaming busily close at hand, as she sat scribbling something down at her writing desk.

It had been three days after Belle's rather impressive bender. She was quiet, but it wasn't an uncomfortable sort of quiet, and she came for her meals and tea at a regular schedule. Sometimes she still sat wrapped in her knit shawl, reading on the sofa or when the mornings got a bit chilly. Rumpelstiltskin had noticed, lately, that she'd abandoned the leather jerkins and revealing blouses in favor of a slightly more modest neckline like she wore today.

Oddly, he found it more attractive. Not that he'd put much thought into that...the textile professional in him just approved of the extra details to study. Yes.

"Would you like more tea m'lady?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, limping into the library to dust.

"Mm...no," Belle shook her head, tickling her chin with her quill. "Rumple, I've got quite a few backed deals, from...my absence? So I might not be around much for the next week or so. Could you hold down the fort, so to speak?"

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "Of course m'lady."

Belle had never told him where she was going before...either this was some sort of test, or just a heads-up so he didn't waste any tea or food. Probably the former, but if it were too obvious, his mistress wouldn't do it. She reminded him of a young girl taken by the soldiers from their home a while ago, a clever thing that enjoyed being as contrary as her wits and pretty face allowed.

The Dark One smiled...oddly, and then got up, waving her hand and her plain greeny-gray cloak appeared in her hand. She wrapped it around herself and drew up the hood. "Good, I'll be back in a few days. Don't throw any wild parties in my absence, alright?"

"Who would I invite, m'lady?" the spinner snorted, brandishing his feather duster. "The furniture? The cutlery?"

"Well...." Belle pressed her lips together, as if gauging whether or not he was serious, before she grinned widely. "You could always dance with that cute feather duster there."

Rumpelstiltskin snickered before he could catch himself. "Nonsense. Then who would your candelabra dance with?"

Belle actually giggled at that, vanishing in a golden cloud, leaving the spinner alone in the library.

When he first noticed the Dark One would be gone for irregular periods of time, Rumpelstiltskin often thought about running away. Darting out the front door and escaping the castle. As it stood now though...well, fed and clean, aware that the Dark One could end him but that Belle wouldn't do so without a very good (bad?) reason...it was a less appealing prospect. Especially since their entire relationship was founded on the terms that he stay here for the rest of his natural life to protect Bae and the Frontlands from Ogres. ( _He wondered if he'd ever be able to think of his son again without a stinging pain in his chest?_ )

Besides, the incident in the library made Rumpelstiltskin wonder just how often his mistress wound up drunk and miserable. If he'd lived three centuries alone in a castle, he doubted he would recognize himself in the mirror from that amount of loneliness...

* * *

Belle did have a few backed-deals, but that wasn't unusual for this time of year. Usually she used that to her advantage and pressed her clientele into even less advantageous deals. (For them.) But for once, the idea of drinking herself into oblivion until March didn't have much appeal. Partly because Rumpelstiltskin found her sobbing on the floor like a weak, fragile woman she wasn't, and partly because...well, again, because Rumpelstiltskin found her. He found her, tucked her in on the sofa, let her hair down, and made her tea in the morning.

Almost, _almost_ , Belle wished she'd been a little less drunk for that. She wished she could remember it more than a brief recollection of petting hands and soft humming. It had been so long since anyone cared for her...

But this was not the place for soft thoughts.

It wasn't often that the Blue Fairy called on Belle. For all her superiority complex, the Blue Fairy occasionally seemed to realize she didn't know ever gods-be-damned thing, and she broke her own **DDWTDO** rule to beg for help. ( **DDWTDO** , of course, stood for, **DON'T DEAL WITH THE DARK ONE**.)

Belle sat on the rotting tree stump, examining her pale pink nails as she waited. This glen was an unusual one, as something here dampened all magic down to a negligible amount. Whenever the fairy chieftain wanted to chat every a half-century or so, this was where they met. To mortals it was a downright creepy place with leafless dark trees reaching up to the sky like skeletal hands, snow powdering the ground like frosting off a cake. To Belle, it just made her skin feel itchy, stripped of her magic and helpless.

Save for the dagger (a plain one, not _the_ dagger,) strapped to her thigh, of course. No sense in trusting her sworn enemy enough that she came unarmed to a peaceful meeting.

"Belle."

The Dark One turned and gave a little bow of her head with a flourish of her hands, a curtsy of sorts without bothering to get up. The Blue Fairy walked up, her lips pinched together as she held her head up in a stiff attempt at dignity.

Belle wasn't fooled. Without her fairy-magic glow or flittery wings, the Blue Fairy's costume looked pretty damn stupid when she took the form of a full-grown human. There was a reason Belle called her the Blue Jellyfish-her bell-shaped skirts had enough frills and ribbons to make convincing tentacles.

"That's my name," Belle crossed her legs, picking at imaginary lint on her cloak. "So what d'you want then? The solution to a curse? A magic cure?"

The Blue Fairy looked annoyed, momentarily, that Belle hadn't gotten up when she appeared. All the more reason for Belle to remain seated. "You've taken on a servant, I hear. I thought you preferred your solitude."

Belle was glad, again, that she'd stopped drinking. Without a clear head, she would've automatically nuked the jellyfish on the spot for that last comment. "Meh, place was filthy. Why? There some lordling missing you think I kidnapped? I only deal in portable humans, and babies don't make good servants. Or dinners. Not enough meat on their soft little bones, y'know?"

The Blue Fairy's regal nose curled a bit. Belle giggled. (As if she'd ever eat a baby.)

"You have magic to clean, Belle. The only other reason you'd want a manservant, and I always thought that you were more inclined to intellectual pursuits than... _physical_ ones."

Belle giggled a second time, covering her mouth with one hand and folding the other one over her stomach. " _Oh my gods_! I didn't even think you knew what sex _was_! Oh! Oh, that was adorable, look at you! With your brown nose all bent out of joint 'cause I have something you don't know about!"

The Dark One hopped to her feet, scrunching her toes in the cold snow. "Well, this has been good for a laugh, but if you're just here to pester me about my home life, I'll be going now. See ya!"

Belle started to walk away when the Blue Fairy cleared her throat.

"How about a deal, then, Belle? If you tell me why you've taken on a servant now, then I'll return something you've...lost."

That came dangerously close to touching a nerve, and Belle clenched her teeth tightly before she turned around, flat eyes narrowed.

"Y'know, that's funny," her voice dropped from light and girlish to a tense growl. "The last time I asked for your help in getting something back, you told me it was impossible. And then something like, ah, what was it? 'The Dark One is a curse on the entire Enchanted Forest, and you will die a short, ugly life like all the others before you.' When was that, again? Three hundred years ago? Well pardon my Marchland slang, but _piss off, bitch_."

The Blue Fairy did hesitate a moment. Then she pulled out a familiar wand and pointed it at Belle. "This was stolen from you, wasn't it? Would you like it back or not, I know how protective you are about your things."

Belle pressed her lips together, eyeing her wand that Robin Hood stole. A piece clicked into place in the back of her mind, how the thief had gotten past her wards, and Belle smiled thinly. She sat down on her stump again, spreading her hands.

"Whaddya want to know?"

The Blue Fairy stood a little taller, feeling she was in control of the situation. "If I give you this, I want to know why you took a servant. That's the deal."

Belle eyed the wand and smiled a bit wider. The Blue Fairy was used to talking to wholesome, goody-two-shoes that never lied and hardly understood magic. Her terms were too simple, to open to interpretation. This was almost as good as vaporizing another fairy for a new wand.

"Deal," she held her hand out and Blue pressed the wand-tip into her palm. The Blue Fairy wasn't big on human contact. "Why did I take my caretaker, you say? Well that's pretty simple: Food conjured by magic tastes terrible, I'm an equally terrible housekeeper, and why waste magic anyway when I could take some nameless peasant boy as a servant? He cooks, he cleans, serves the tea, and does what I tell him to do. It's a perfect arrangement."

The first two were true to the letter, but the "peasant boy" thing was where Belle twisted the words a bit. _ _'I could take some nameless peasant boy'__ implied that she could do it if the mood struck her. But she hadn't. So it wasn't a lie or the truth, but it held to their agreement.

The Blue Fairy tilted her head a bit. "Who is he then?"

"Who? _ __Who___?" Belle smacked the wand she' d been inspecting against her palm so suddenly the fairy chieftain jumped. "Nobody! He's just a peasant that made a deal with a steep price. One of those save-my-child, I'll-do-anything types, y'know? Can't even recall his name half the time."

Again, not a lie or the truth. And who the hell named their child Rumpelstiltskin? Gods. Why not Robert, or Francis, or Felix, or Nick?

Belle tucked the wand inside her cloak and smiled sweetly at the Blue Fairy, who was looking at her like she was waiting on the punchline. "Anything else, or are we done here?"

The Blue Fairy pursed her lips, clasping her hands in front of her. "I'm surprised to see you responding so soon to my request to visit Belle. Aren't you usually locked away in your tower this time of year?"

With a mad giggle, Belle swayed forwards a step, shaking her head. "You remember that time I locked you in a jam jar and used you as a reading lamp for a week?"

The Blue Fairy looked puzzled, but nodded.

Belle lunged forwards and suddenly had the secret dagger at her throat, drawing a thin red line.

"Unless you fancy being my nightlight for the next century, you'll remember which one of us holds the cards in this realm. And here's a hint: It's not the one with a reputation for goodness and purity with her goods prominently displayed in the window of her pure blue bodice. Got it? _ _ _Good.___ "

Belle swept off with her dagger in one hand and the fairy wand in the other, vanishing in golden smoke as soon as she stepped over the line of the glen's power.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been outside much, since it was raining and cold. But with March a short week away and warming weather on the horizon, (not that he was counting, but Belle had been gone for three days already,) he decided to hang out the laundry to dry. And while he was out in the yard, he noticed one of the many rose bushes on Belle's grounds was starting to develop new green leaves and tender, wee flower buds.

Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't lie, he was rather excited to see what kind of roses grew in the Dark Castle. He returned to the Great Room that afternoon, checking to see if Belle was in before he wasted time hauling up lunch. She was not. He was going to check the library next, and if she wasn't there either, the spinner decided to check her botanical books ("botanical", he discovered, was a fancy word for garden work and plants,) for what kind of roses they were. Or perhaps the history books, and dig up some of Avonlea's past? Only before he could decide, the Great Room doors swung open.

He expected it to be his mistress, but instead it was the Evil Queen.

She was dressed in a rather tight black dress with red crystals sewn around the neckline plunging down in an elongated U, flaring out at her knees with more red crystals along the hem, and shiny, sharp black heels underneath it clicked against the floor ominously. She wore a necklace made from large squares of interlocking silver links, with a sizable gemstone hanging just above her cleavage that would have drawn any man's eye to it...if Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been staring at her face like the Reaper himself ( _ _herself?__ ) had strode in to collect his soul.

 _ _"__ Oh, you're still here," Regina hummed, looking around as though someone were playing hide-and-seek with her. "So where's Belle? I need to talk to her about something."

"Ah, sh-she went out, Your Majesty," he did an awkward bow, trying not to let his knees buckle. It was bad enough to be in the same room as this woman when Belle was here. He didn't want to be alone. "Sh-she didn't say when she'd be back, exactly."

Queen Regina frowned, then turned her eyes back on him and seemed to re-evaluate him, putting her hands on her full hips. " _ _Hmmmmm.__ Well, perhaps there's something you could help me with, then," her red lips curled up, and Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help but think of a wolf baring it's teeth after a kill. "I don't believe I was introduced to you last time. You may call me Regina."

Rumpelstiltskin didn't want to call her anything. He swallowed, shifting back a step when Regina came forwards one. "Y-yes, Your Highness. Um, i-if you're going to wait, would you like some tea?"

Regina swanned by him, accidentally brushing her hand over the forearm bared by his rolled up shirt sleeve. "Tea would be lovely," she smiled far too kindly to be honest. "Thank you." She sat in Belle's chair the way only a Queen could, crossing her knees (in a dress so snug, Rumpelstiltskin almost wondered how she did that,) and propping her elbows on the armrests. Her rather womanly curves were well displayed, but Rumpelstiltskin felt too much fear to contemplate that.

He hurried to do as he was commanded, making the tea and wracking his brains for a way out. He couldn't really think, he was too afraid of what the Queen would do to him without Belle to supervise, and hoped that his instincts would provide a solution. And once he assembled the tea tray and stood gnawing on his lip in front of the Great Room doors: Inspiration struck him.

He whispered under his breath, _ _"Belle, Belle, Belle."__

And nothing happened.

__'Damn it.'_ _

The spinner placed the tea tray on the table, and the cup barely rattled from how badly his hands shook. The visiting Queen's hand crept up to toy with her necklace, but Rumpelstiltskin was focusing on not spilling tea everywhere as he filled the cup. Somehow serving the Dark One tea for the first time hadn't been this nerve-wracking. He could only assume that was because Belle wouldn't kill him because that would break their deal, and the Dark One never broke deals.

But Queen Regina was under no such constraints.

The woman's red-tipped fingers brushed against Rumpelstiltskin's when he brought her teacup over. He'd fully intended to set it on the tabletop, but Regina took it directly from his hands. Her fingers felt more like greedy talons compared to the accidentally brushes of his mistress's cool fingers, and unless he was imagining it, far more deliberate and prolonged in their contact than that...

Regina smiled up at him through her dark lashes as she reached for the sugar. "You're looking rather well for the servant of the Dark One. Are you content here?"

Bells were going off in Rumpelstiltskin's head, and he took a step back. "I cannot complain, Your Majesty."

The Queen made a thoughtful noise as she stirred her sugared tea. It seemed ironic to Rumpelstiltskin that she preferred her tea so sweet. "You needn't be frightened of me, dear, I know Belle isn't the warmest person in the Enchanted Forest. Don't you miss your home, your family?"

 _ _ _'Of course I miss my son, and that's every reason to be afraid of you.'___ "I made a deal, Your Majesty," Rumpelstiltskin tried to stand up a little straighter. "And I intend to honor it."

Regina put the spoon in her mouth and sucked off the residue, arching a finely groomed brow. "What did Belle offer her services for, exactly? Not to brag, but I'm quite the skilled sorceress myself, and my services are much more flexible than Belle's. Perhaps I could help you with your problems."

A final bell went off in Rumpelstiltskin's mind at the lower register that the Queen's voice had dipped to, at how she looked at him with unspoken offers and promises. Her lips curled up, red as sin, and he could see every confidence in her dark eyes...

And he _ _ _laughed.___

Regina looked perplexed momentarily, but smiled back gamely. She probably thought that she'd won him over. She hadn't. Not by a long shot.

"No thank you, Your Majesty," he shook his head, unable to remove his grin. "Actually, I don't believe you're offering the same sort of services at all."

A tiny crease formed between Regina's perfect eyebrows. "Don't think cheaply of me, I only want to help. I was under Belle's thumb once too, you know, and I know what an ugly place that can be when the mood takes her."

Rumpelstiltskin fancied that Regina's thumb was an uglier place still. Not that he said that aloud. Instead, he shook his head again, and Regina put down her teacup. And she stood up. And suddenly Rumpelstiltskin felt very, _ _ _very___ nervous.

"Oh now don't be so shy," she smiled far too sweetly, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. (Her tone and manner was meant to be soothing, but the spinner just felt his skin crawl.) "I'm quite adept at going around Belle's contracts, it would be my pleasure really. I'm a far fairer mistress than the Dark One, far more generous to my allies. All you have to do is keep an eye on Belle for me, make sure she isn't...being difficult. More than usually, I mean. Then I'll take care of the rest, and you'll be happier than you were before she stole you away. That much I promise..."

Rumpelstiltskin stepped back quickly.

"You're too much like her for your own good," he blurted out, bumping against the table's edge.

Regina's mask of sultry friendliness melted away, replaced by a cold, hard look and a sneer. "Fine, have it your way!"

Her red-clawed hand shot forward and Rumpelstiltskin felt something squeeze around his heart. There was a horrible ripping sensation that left him feeling empty and tight all at once, and suddenly he was staring at a glowing red organ thudding frantically in the Evil Queen's delicate hand.

A wicked smirk crossed her face as she held the heart- _ _ _his heart,___ -tighter. "You should have taken my first offer there Hobblefoot, you may think I'm the same as Belle, but I'm far less patient and far more result-oriented!"

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure where this flicker of courage-or madness-had come from, but he choked out: "D-didn't mean Belle...I m-meant _ _ _you're mother- **Guuhh**!"___

The worst pain, worse than his ankle at the time of it's maiming, gripped the spinner as the Queen squeezed his heart in her palm, her unoccupied hand's nails digging into his chest and pressing him back against the table as her eyes blazed afresh.

"I am _ _ _nothing___ like my mother, you filthy little serf! I should kill you for impertinence right now!"

Rumpelstiltskin was starting to see spots in front of his eyes, and he couldn't draw breath properly. He knew, then, that he was going to die here. Right on the carpet. Die, and never see his son again, and gods knew why he'd opened his big mouth in the first place...

__**Shit!** _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter XVI: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!
> 
> No sneak-peeks. X3


	16. XVI. Keep my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, while Belle was away dealing, Regina came to the castle and pounced on her unfortunate caretaker...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this: You either read all the words, or you don't care that much about the cliffhanger resolution. Unless you came back to read this. Then good for you, you overachiever of words you!

Belle felt pretty good after her deal with the Blue Fairy, and had worked through about all the summons she'd selected to return in about three days of time. Her last stop was responding to a princess who's brothers had turned into ravens. Or swans.

Some kind of fowl, at any rate.

Then, she heard someone whisper her name three times, and at first was not inclined not to pay it any mind...except she knew that voice.

And why Rumpelstiltskin was calling her, Belle had no idea.

For a moment or two, she thought it might've been a mistake. Why would _he_ call her? He was back at home in the castle. Unless he'd taken her subtle hint and found himself in a pickle while trying to escape...Then Belle felt something cold in her chest, as if something were terribly wrong. She teleported back to the castle and found herself in the Great Room. So was Regina, practically pinning her caretaker to the table with a hand on his trembling chest.

_And his heart in her other hand._

Belle felt a darkness rising up in her that, for the first time in centuries, she felt no desire to hold back. Air currents, magic, swirled around her in an angry hurricane and Regina whirled around when the heart vanished from her hand and into Belle's awaiting one.

The Evil Queen looked like a girl caught with her hands in a cookie jar and Belle knew she looked even more furious than she felt.

_**"REGINA!"** _

"Belle?!" Regina stumbled in her heels away from Rumpelstiltskin, who's knees gave out and fell on the floor. "What-Wait! Wait! I- _Ghuk!"_

Belle clamped magic around the Queen's throat, enjoying the way her eyes bulged out and her white face turned red. "Wait for what, _Regina_? Wait for you to take my caretaker on my table, like your pet Huntsman? Wait for you to turn him into a human version of your magic-mirror friend? Please! I'm all ears!"

Regina gurgled, clawing at the invisible force around her throat. Belle cupped a hand to her ear, "Hmm? What was that? I can't-Can't quite hear you? Speak up. What's the matter? _Dark One got your throat?"_

She slammed Regina on the ground and then grabbed her by her bizarrely configured hair and yanked her to her feet again.

The Queen was met with eyes cold enough to freeze hell.

 _"He is_ _mine_ , Regina," Belle hissed. "And I don't take kindly to people taking what's mine. If you ever think you can take something from me again, whether it's my servant or a damned flower in my garden, go ahead and try. _I will rip your heart out and eat it like raw steak._ Understand? Good. **NOW GET OUT.** "

Regina vanished in a puff of bluish-purple smoke before she could breathe properly again. That left Belle trembling with rage, trying to quell the Darkness that demanded she chase after the Queen and grind her bones to dust. A small gasping groan caught her ears, and Belle belatedly realized she was squeezing Rumpelstiltskin's heart in her hand.

She spun around and saw the spinner's face tight with pain, biting his lip like he was trying to stay quiet. He sat on his knees, curled over, pressing a hand to his empty chest that probably ached with the force of her grip on his heart.

The Darkness wanted her to crush it. Wanted to punish him for his weakness, free her from his pesky needs...

"Rumple, Rumple, look at me, look, it's okay," she dropped to her knees in front of him, squeezing his trembling shoulder. "It's okay, she's gone. She's not going to hurt you, I won't let her come near you again, not ever again. Do you hear me, Rumple? I've got you, I've got you and I won't let go..."

Her caretaker's dark eyes were hazy, but began to clear as she kept babbly hushed nonsense and touching him, reassuring him. At some point she started petting his cheek, cradling his heart close to her chest like a fragile baby bird. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes close and he leaned into her palm for a moment before letting out a shuddery breath.

 **"** Thank you," he rasped, squeezing her wrist. "I-Th-thank you, thank you-"

"Shh, shh," Belle cooed, sweeping the hair out of his wet eyes. "Shh, none of that, just breathe Rumple, calm down."

"Wi-will she ever c-come back?" he asked tentatively, as if afraid to even ask.

Belle wanted to wrap him in her arms like a child, tell him she would always protect him, and kiss away the tears threatening to spill down his dear, homely face. Oh gods, that would really traumatize the poor thing though!

"I doubt it, but I'll take care of everything," she promised instead. _'Especially you...'_

Then she looked down at the heart beating in her palm. "Ah...Rumple, I've got to put this back in. It might hurt a little, but I'll be careful. And...I'm going to put a small spell on it, okay? Just so no one can remove it without permission again. Rumple? Rumple, please nod yes or no."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded stiffly, his whole frame vibrating with tension. She gave him a smile that _felt_ nervous on her own face, and she pushed the glowing organ back into his chest as carefully as she could. The shivering gasp he gave didn't sound to pained, and Belle realized then that she was holding her own breath.

"All...alright?" Belle asked.

Her caretaker nodded, licking his thin lips. His silence was starting to unnerve Belle. She waved her hand over his chest and placed the protection spell on it, smiling a bit more easily this time at him. The spell took the form of a watery golden shimmer, and rather unconsciously, Belle left her hand over his steadily-calming heart, stroking the stiff fabric of his work vest.

"There, all finished," she exhaled. "Uh, s-so nobody will take your heart again. And, as far as Regina goes, it'll be a lot harder for her to hurt you with magic. It's not much, but it's all I could do without, well-"

"All magic comes with a price," Rumpelstiltskin swallowed thickly. "Y-yeah...yeah...I-I guess so...'kay..."

One trembling hand covered hers over his heart, and a weak smile crossed his face. "Kinda funny, isn't it? I-I trust the Dark One to protect my heart from the Evil Queen. I don't think this is what you had in mind when you came looking for a caretaker, m'lady."

Belle bit her lower lip, glancing from their hands to his brown eyes. A lock of hair had fallen in his face. The fragile little smile caused those friendly creases at the corner of his eyes, and Belle found herself smiling back.

"Completely unprepared," she nodded in agreement. "Now straighten up this mess on the table and I'll fetch your cracked mug."

Belle poofed away just in time to catch the mildly indignant look on Rumpelstiltskin's face as he said, "It's a chipped cup!" before she vanished for the kitchens. She leaned against the kitchen counter and caught herself still smiling like an idiot, touching her glossy white cheek. She couldn't recall smiling, really smiling, so much...ever.

_Oh gods she had it bad..._

She had no idea that back in the Great Room, Rumpelstiltskin pressed a hand over his newly-protected heart with a similar look glowing on his face.

* * *

The Blue Fairy had cut ties with the Frontlands for years, instructing all of her girls to ignore any and all pleas for help because she had washed her hands entirely of the Duke's disasterious war. But the war had ended because all the Ogres turned into butterflies within a week, and The Blue Fairy had been busy trying to guide Snow White out of the Evil Queen's red-tipped claws. So that slipped by her, but now it seemed very important, and once she authorized wishes to be granted in the area again, she began asking her fairies if they had heard anything about the Dark One in the Frontlands since it happened.

A green fairy named Mint (dark-skinned with a beautiful mess of curls held back by a jeweled headband,) said a man had asked for someone to watchover their neighbor's son, who had run away three months ago.

Goldenrod, who'd made Fairy Godmother not so long ago, mentioned hearing from one of the red-hued fairies (Coral or Rose, perhaps, or maybe Carmine?) that they'd snuck off and gotten big to human-watch at a carnival being held to celebrate the end of the war. Blue decided to punish the culprit later, but for now she filed away the fact that _whoever_ it was had heard a small boy asking a storyteller for information about the Dark One.

And then Nova, of all her fairies, a sweet, ditzy pink fairy that had two left feet on the ground, with brown hair and eyes, a big smile had mentioned almost in passing, "Oh, I haven't heard anything. But Aubergine heard a boy asking for your help three months ago, I think? Maybe you should ask her."

Aubergine was a dim young fairy with a deep purple dress, bronzy skin, and dark hair pulled up in a bun decorated by a green ribbon she'd liberated from Green's things after her banishment. (Belle may call her a jellyfish, but even the Blue Fairy could see that the whole ensemble gave Aubergine a very eggplantish look.) She also chattered in a rambling way that had the Blue Fairy betting that even Snow White herself would throw this girl to the Dark One just to make her get to the point.

"Oh that? Oh yeah, yeah, that was...uh...three months ago, maybe two? No, no, it was three, almost four now, because I was wearing my new slippers that pinched something awful at the time, so I was resting on a tree root given my feet a break. You'd think flying instead of walking wouldn't hurt your feet so much, but those slippers were so uncomfortable! Anyway, I was resting on this oak root, y'know how oak roots sort of spread out on the ground, close to the surface? And then I saw this raggy little boy, he was a tiny thing too, all skinny and small, with fluffy dark hair like Mint's, but shorter, and he got down and he asked for you to help him find the Dark Castle, and I thought what a poor little thing he was because his papa was probably dead and tortured now-"

"Aubergine."

"Goodness, I mean, tortured and dead. You can't torture a dead person, can you? I mean I guess if they were a zombie maybe. Vampires too, I guess. Ooh, or if you were a necromancer. Ew, that gives me the creeps just thinking about it!"

"Aubergine?"

"I mean who sat down and said 'I'm gonna disregard the laws of magic' and reanimated a body like that? Yuck! I bet if you-"

"Aubergine!"

The Blue Fairy silently upped Nova's standing with her, at least that fairy kept her babbling to a nervous habit instead of prattling. "The boy? What happened next?"

"Uh...well he left," and it was a miracle that was all she said, accompanied by a shrug. "I flew back to come report it to you at the time, but then I got to chatting with Scarlet. Boy those red fairies really know a lot about people!"

The Blue Fairy came to two conclusions then: That whoever Belle's servant was, his son was looking for him. (The other conclusion, being, that she needed to keep the red-hued fairies on shorter leashes.) More importantly, this meant that the Dark One's servant-whoever he was,-must have been one of those widowers that would do anything to protect their child, the type was common enough, which must've been why he was desperate enough to serve Belle and end the Frontlands war.

Hmm...

* * *

Banditry had a few perks: No nosy chaperones shadowing her ever move, no handmaidens trying to out-fawn one another, and as long as she was careful, Snow White could sleep in or stay up as late as she pleased. It made the little things like angry mobs of Regina's guards, having to re-sharpen her rusty survival skills, and finding a big black snake darting around her woodland hideout by stepping on it's tail in the late evening (yikes!) worth it.

Oddly enough, even if Regina's act through the years had been nothing but...well, an _act_ , she had never been a particular bother to Snow White growing up. She was hands-off for the most part, but usually gave her a prod here or there when things got tough.

Now, Snow wondered if Regina had prodded in hopes of watching her fail...but since she never did fail, in a backwards way, she supposed her stepmother made her a stronger person.

Wow.

Snow's stomach gave a rumble, alerting her to the fact that it had been hours since her sparse breakfast of the near-end of a crusty bread loaf and the last of the milk Red brought with her last "provision drop". (Which was more of a tea party like sit-down in an agreed-upon location in the woods when Red brought her a basket of goodies.) But her supplies were running low, and the game was only just starting to return from a long winter, so she'd had to ration things out.

But it beat her first disastrous meal in the woods when Hercules tried to show her how to skin a squirrel...which resulted in cut fingers and a lump of charcoal that had once been a rodent.

Perched up high in the branches of a tall tree by the road, Snow White smiled. She wondered what Hercules, or the Huntsman, would think of her now? ( _Oh gods_ , her poor father would have a heart attack seeing his little girl rob carriages in breeches!) There was a felled tree lying across the gravel road, placed _just so_ that oncoming carriages would have to stop. And with all the comings-and-goings thanks to King Midas' celebrations lately, it was as good a chance as any to acquire a little more wealth to afford a ticket out of the Enchanted Forest...

Sure, Snow had felt guilty the first time she robbed an actual noble instead of another bandit. But the second time she looked closer and didn't feel that guilty at all. One prince had been riding in a carriage with solid gold caps on the wheels she took great pleasure in prying off. Another fine lady had stopped her carriage so she could get out and stretch her dainty legs, leaving a gem-studded box worth more than the bag of gold on the seat of the open carriage. It was hard feeling guilty when most nobles were such cowardly, stupid, selfish people.

Sometimes Snow felt embarrassed to be born among them.

In passing, Snow White had heard of King Midas. She knew him to be, literally, the wealthiest man in the Enchanted Forest. The only trouble his reign had ever seen was a spot of dragon-infestation that some prince or other had cleared up recently. Good for him, but Snow wasn't one of the fair ladies swooning over dashing young lordlings anymore. She was far more practical these days, and looked forward to seeing what she could pluck from the interior of the bright white carriage as it came rolling into view surrounded by knights.

As predicted, the carriage stopped. It was equally sad and sort of funny that the knights acted like ants cut off from their line, totally unable to realize they just had to _push_ the log aside and they could get by. (Snow almost wished she could see their crests, and write a consolation letter to their liege.)

Then whoever was riding in the carriage, a young man from the sound of it, fair-haired and wearing practical leathers, (odd, maybe he was some kind of escort instead of a prince?) got out and eased all the knights by admitting the obvious, and going to help move it aside. Well that was interesting, most lordlings just told their men to move it aside and got back in the carriage.

Snow shrugged it off. Maybe he was one of those second/third sons that joined the military. Who knew? What was important was that he'd left the carriage door open, and as she jumped down to land on the top with all the grace of a cat, Snow sincerely looked forward to what the lord would do next...

* * *

It was five days after Queen Regina's...visit.

Rumpelstiltskin found himself jumping at unexpected noises a bit more than usual. His cowardly mind was certain that the Queen would return and rip out his heart when he wasn't looking...

But...

As odd as it sounded, (and it was very odd, he would admit,) Rumpelstiltskin felt _safe_ , too. Two or three wives in his village used to be maids for the Duke's fortress, and told stories both humorous and horrifying of how the nobles treated them. Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure how having only the Dark One for a mistress would affect him, but his frightened mind had been very...fertile, with possibilities. As it turns out...his mistress was more defensive than cruel.

He wasn't unconvinced she might _never_ harm him, but the spinner felt certain that Belle wouldn't let any of her visitors harm him either.

And it was very unusual having someone want to protect him. Even if she didn't seem as more than another possession, it was still a novelty.

Rumpelstiltskin caught Belle hovering in the same room as him for the first two days. Oh, she was reading a book or making notes on a parchment, but she was still in the room with him. If she had done that when he first arrived he would be unnerved, but as it stood now he was merely...curious, he supposed. On the third day while he gathered up three books Belle left lying out on different tables.

Belle sat curled up on a sofa, reading a spell book that looked like it was bound in red dragonhide. Rumpelstiltskin had no desire to see what was in a dragonhide-bound book at all.

One of the books left out had been a tome of riddles. Odd. Rumpelstiltskin left that one out and came back to it when the others were put away, opening it to a random page and looking at the topmost riddle listed: _The wetter it gets, the dryer you are._

After a beat, he realized it was a towel. When you were wet, you used a dry towel that soaked up the water. Alright. Next: _Twice in a week, once in a year, never in a day, what am I?_

 _The letter E._ Charlotte had been fond of that one, the spinner smiled, reading the next riddle in line.

 _Four legs, four feet, a back, sometimes armed but never with hands. What am I?_ Hmm...that one was...tricky...Rumpelstiltskin mouthed the riddle again, and once more, turning it over in his mind. Hmm...

"Four legs and feet...a back...sometimes armed..."

"A chair."

Rumpelstiltskin whipped his head to the right, seeing the Dark One grinning at him from where she was twisted on the sofa. She pointed to one of the armchairs across from her with a fingernail that was left, for once, unpainted. "See? A chair has four legs with feet, and a back. Sometimes they have arms but they aren't the kind with hands."

"Ah! Yes, yes, right," Rumpelstiltskin nodded, then a wicked thought crossed his mind. "So...if there were a dozen apples paired together and half those pairs in pears, and I took six apples instead of a pair, which is more? Apples or pears?"

Belle thought for a moment biting her lip and narrowing her eyes...then she tilted her head a bit and frowned. "Is that in the book or are you making that up?"

"Are you stalling, m'lady?" Rumpelstiltskin smiled shyly at how Belle sat up straighter.

"No! It's all even then. You started with a dozen apples in pairs of two, which is six pairs, and three pairs of pears, which is six pears, and removed half the apples which left six-Did you make that up or not? It's quite good."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, rubbing his thumb against a knot in his staff. _"Thank you, m'lady."_

Belle bit her lip for another moment, then smiled. "So, if I asked you if six sick snails slurped seven cups of soup, how man S's would say is in all?"

The spinner smiled a little wider. "There is no S in the word all, but there are eight in your riddle."

" _Ooh_ , good answer," Belle cupped her chin in her hand. "Do you have another?"

Rumpelstiltskin searched his memory for an appropriately clever one. "I can give it to anyone, but it is still stays with me."

"Your name!" Belle clapped. "An excellent riddle for the Dark One, y'know? Names have power and all. Oh, and what has six legs, blue fur, and a stinger?"

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. "Uh...I don't...I don't know, m'lady. What is it?"

"I dunno, but there's one on your shoulder."

Rumpelstiltskin flinched and swiped at both shoulders quickly before Belle burst into laughter. Oh. _Oh._ Clever. He felt his face heat and slumped against the bookshelf, shaking his head at the giggling Dark One on the sofa.

"Very funny, m'lady," he sighed. But he smiled too.

Belle wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, grinning back at him. "Well I don't play fair Rumple! Dark One, remember?"

Rumpelstiltskin wondered if he could come up with some retort to that, but in the next second, Belle frowned, cocking her head to the side. "Hmm...I have a visitor knocking at the door," she stood up, brushing down her lace-striped skirt. "I'll be right back..."

* * *

Her visitor was the Huntsman, looking uncomfortable and holding a letter bearing Regina's seal in black wax.

Belle trusted the Huntsman on his own not to do anything too stupid, but Regina did control him like a puppet, and she was glad Rumpelstiltskin was upstairs in the library. (Also a little mad that Regina had to indirectly ruin their riddle game.) Belle motioned to a chair for the Huntsman to sit on as she skimmed over the letter.

The first few lines were Regina's version of an apology, ( _I had no intentions of harming your pet, dear,)_ followed by a meek gesture of goodwill, _(_ _If you'd rather, we could conduct business at my castle from now on, or perhaps neutral territory like in the old days?)_ and a laughably thin attempt at disguising a threat as friendly banter, _(_ _Oh, and please don't evaporate my Hunstman on the spot? He's on his own, so to speak, I wouldn't dare try to double-cross you so soon)_ before even touching on the heart of the matter:

_I came to you the other day because I wanted to discuss something I've read about recently. You remember my stepdaughter, Snow White? The so-called Fairest of Them All? Yes, she's a bandit these days, and yes, she's still a royal pain in the ass for someone who's disavowed all titles. I need something that will take care of her permanently, something that will destroy any happiness in her future. If you're interested, of course, what could you tell me about the Dark Curse? It seems to be right up your alley._

So! Regina wanted to look into the Dark Curse, did she? Belle giggled to herself, drawing an uneasy look from the Huntsman that she ignored with ease. How marvelous! An actual chance of experimenting with the curse in the real world rather than theoretically!

Belle snapped her fingers and the ink rearranged itself on the page to form her reply: _I love it when you try to win your way back into my good graces, you get so creative. I'll gladly discuss this with you until I'm blue in the face at your castle, but as long as you don't lay a finger on my servant again, I see no reason for you to shy away. Like anything's ever stopped you from knocking down my doors before. Let's begin, say, a week from today? I've got a few more deals to finish, but I look forward to this little chat greatly._

She tucked it back into the envelope and handed it to the Huntsman, who jumped to his feet and grabbed the farthest corner of the letter so they wouldn't touch. Ordinarily, Belle might reach out and try to touch the person who reacted so, but...not the Huntsman. He got enough unwanted touches from Regina.

"Go on," Belle fluttered her hands the way one might shoo a chicken in the yard. "Go on, away with you! Ah, little tip for the page though, hmm?"

The Huntsman paused, looking at Belle warily. "Yes...?"

Belle spread her hands wide. "If the participants play their cards right, you may not be the Queen's pet much longer, _Humbert."_

"How do you-"

"Know your name?" Belle giggled with a wide grin, flicking the doors open with a swish of her wrist. "I'm the Dark One! I know everything! Like it will rain soon, so off you trot sir!"

The Huntsman regarded her strangely, but he left soon after. As Belle flicked the doors shut again, she laughed, spinning around on her toes. The unwashed (and washed) masses of the Enchanted Forest seemed to think Belle was some kind of Seer. She wasn't, but she was very observant. She could tell that big changes were underway, and she was more than likely to have a proverbial finger in every pie.

**What fun!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So whilst perusing the Internet on my new Tumblr account, I came across some startling news: Robert Carlyle is getting a haircut for his role as Begbie in the Trainspotting sequel. I'm scared. (Not of Trainspotting, I'll just avoid that, thank you!) I'm thinking: "How fast does his hair grow? Will it be of an appropriate length before Season 6? Does the shorn floof break what little magic remains in OUAT?!"
> 
> Someone: Hold me...
> 
> Chapter XVII: Belle keeps an appointment with Regina, and Rumpelstiltskin does some spring cleaning before he receives a visitor...


	17. XVII. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle protected Rumple's heart against Regina...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a bad week for Rumbelle. "Her Handsome Hero" raised all of our downtrodden hopes, only to be crushed by the unmitigated disasters of "Ruby Slippers". Take heart in knowing that Belle will be awakened by Rumple. That-and loads of top-quality fan fictions,-is all we have right now:

Today was the day Belle had to meet with Regina.

A part of her was looking forward to it because if Regina wanted to cast her curse, so much the better. Something about it rang a bit...extreme, for Belle's tastes, but her curiosity was insatiable.

On the other hand, it was one week to the day that she'd ripped out Rumpelstiltskin's heart, too. He'd only stopped jumping at unexpected noises a few days ago, and while Belle had re-fortified her wards, the Blue Fairy had already found a way around them once. And Belle had more enemies than those two harpies...

Either way, Belle knew that she had to do this. For one thing, she had to get somebody to cast her curse. (Belle didn't like curse-casting, it was messy and unpredictable, and making them was the fun part anyway.) For another, if she gave Regina or anyone else a hint that her caretaker might be special to her, they would break down her door to kidnap him for ransom every week.

Not that Rumpelstiltskin was special, mind.

Belle had just grown rather...fond of him. He made excellent tea, was very clever with his mind and hands, (he liked to think she didn't know about the broken clockwork nightingale he fixed, but she did,) and it was rather endearing the way he shyly admired her patchwork dresses while desperately trying not to let her know he was admiring them.

This also had no bearing on why she breezed into the library, her nails painted a chipper shade of blue, to tell him she was off. Belle just wanted to alert her caretaker that she would be gone for the afternoon. Certainly didn't want to see his reaction to her dress. Nope.

Today's outfit was a dark, forest-green velvet dress that had a wide scoop from shoulder to shoulder, with oval cutouts covered by creamy sheer lace down either side of her torso, (with visible golden stitches, of course,) stopping just above the dark leather belt worn low on her hips. There was a slit cut up the right of her skirts to the top of her thigh, beneath the belt, that was kept from being indecent by lacy petticoats. Belle had pulled her hair up in a curly up-do, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she found her caretaker polishing candlesticks at a table.

(She had yet to learn whether they actually danced with his feather duster or not.)

"I'm going to be out, so don't bother with lunch," the Dark One instructed, rising up on her toes as she clasped her hands behind her back. "But I'll be home in the late afternoon unless my little meeting runs long."

Sure enough, Rumpelstiltskin-who remained in his wool trousers and vest, even though the sleeves were rolled up,-nodded in acknowledgement before his brown eyes drifted down to the slit in her skirt. Specifically, the lace that both concealed and revealed her leg. Belle knew that she still had a nice set of curves, cursed or no, but it was sort of endearing rather than lecherous the way the spinner looked at her clothes. He wasn't really undressing her with his eyes the way that nasty Sheriff of Nottingham had. Besides, once a textile worker, always a textile worker.

"See something you like?" Belle teased, turning at the waist a few times so her skirt swished playfully.

Rumpelstiltskin's gaze dropped timidly to her toes, but a tiny smile crept into his features. "Ah, you're, um, lace skirts, m'lady. They're very beautiful. Lace suits you."

"What? Delicate and white?"

"N-no, no, um," the spinner's hand twitched in the air. "More like...uh, co-complicated?"

Belle would have sworn he was going to say something other than complicated, but he wasn't wrong there at all, was he?

"Fair enough. See you later Rumple!" she waved as she disappeared...

Why _were_ her insides squirming like that?

* * *

Regina wasn't exactly afraid of the Dark One. If she thought about it, she probably knew Belle better than most of the Enchanted Forest did. She'd been Belle's student and on-and-off partner-in-crime for more years than she cared to recall now, starting when she'd summoned the Dark One to teach her magic to be rid of her mother.

A mutual dislike of Cora was one thing she and Belle would always agree on.

At the same time, Regina was highly wary of Belle. She knew her, and so she knew Belle never did anything without a reason, always had a trick up her sleeve, and always, _always_ was one step ahead of everybody else. And the slip of a sorceress could plot revenge in a way that sometimes made Regina jealous...

Especially when it wasn't directed at her...

Regina had shooed her father out of her chambers as quickly as possible. He was only encouraged when he heard who was coming by. Bless her dear, sweet father, Henry was a good, kind man who never had a bad word to say about anybody. Regina couldn't hate him for not standing up to Cora, she was just glad he held her when she cried and wanted someone to understand. Lately, though, as she took on the role of Evil Queen more and more, his conscience was a little irksome.

But he was still her father, the only person in the Enchanted Forest that she loved, and Regina wouldn't wish any harm on him.

"He looks well, your father does, I mean," a voice said from behind Regina as soon as she closed the doors behind her father. Belle was sitting on the little stool in front of Regina's vanity, examining one of her hair combs with the seriousness one might a sword blade. "I think of all the princes Cora could've snagged for a husband, he was the sweetest. Really liked her, y'know? Shame she was such a power bitch."

Regina leaned back against the door, folding her arms over her chest with a prim raise of her eyebrow. "Do I want to know how you know that?"

Belle giggled, gently slapping the flat of the comb against her palm. "I did teach your mummy dearest, remember? Knew your grandfather too. Very well. Y'look more like your grandmother, by the way. Nice girl. Deserved better than ol' Xavier by a mile. Now, would you rather we talk about your family tree, or the Dark Curse?"

"The curse." Belle-and Cora a time or two,-had hinted at some mysterious tie her grandfather, King Xavier, had to the Dark One. Enough that Regina really didn't want to discuss it. "What do you know about it? I mean specifics."

Belle tapped the end of her up-turned nose. "Aha! To the point, I like it! Well, unfortunately, I don't actually know too much about it. One of those long-forgotten, lost-to-the-ages things, y'see. However!" and here she clapped her hands together and got to her bare feet. "I believe I have the one specific you're looking for above all else...it _is_ the curse to end all curses, you see...so..."

Regina smiled darkly.

"No more happy endings. For anyone."

Oh, _yes_ , this was very promising.

Belle spun in a circle her, skirts swishing around her pale legs. "That is the gist of it, my dear. Now, there's a lot of research and work to be done before you can even think about assembling the components. If your serious, I can take care of that for you."

A bell-no pun intended,-went off in Regina's head. "Wait a minute," she held up one hand. "How do I know you won't just...cast it yourself?"

The look Belle fixed her with was as if Regina had asked something incredibly stupid, like if the grass was green.

"Uh...because _I_ don't _want_ to do it?" Belle put her hands on her cocked hips, pursing her lips. "I'll do the legwork, researching and curse-weaving, setting up the important steps. But casting curses is, quite frankly, boring to me. You can have all the glory Regina, but I advise you to remember we'll be starting practically from scratch. Who ever invented this curse didn't exactly leave notes behind, I'm going to have to work out each step on my own. It could be years before the curse is made. You'd probably be better off putting an arrow through Snow's pretty head."

Regina had thought of that, actually. One well-aimed arrow (surely she could find some sort of enchanted bow to make sure it hit it's mark?) would end Snow White once and for all...

But it was too quick. Too painless. A swift end to the brat who ruined her life wasn't what Regina wanted at all. She wanted to cut out Snow White's heart and place it on a silver platter. To burn her in the middle of a village for all to see. Above all else, Regina wanted- _needed_ Snow White to suffer before her end.

"I didn't say I'd stop trying! One way or the other, I'll _make_ that girl pay for everything. All I have to do is get close enough to _snap her neck with my bare hands_ ," Regina curled her hands in front of her in a rather gruesome pantomime, and Belle's eyebrows rose up.

I can see you're determined!" she chirped after a beat. "I'll start working on it, but, y'know, with my other, ah, clients and business, it may take awhile-"

"I don't care! Whether cursed or dead, I'll see Snow White suffer like she deserves," Regina's upper lip curled. "Now do we have an agreement or not?"

Belle giggled, her nose crinkling up. "Oh...I s'pose we do. I'll make the curse, you can cast it. I'll let you know when it's ready, but like I said, it's going to take more time. The sooner I get to work, the better then! Bye-bye Regina, have fun torching villages until next time!"

In a swirl of golden smoke, the Dark One vanished. Regina watched the smoke dissipate in the air and felt something warm simmering in her chest. It was almost like hope, but far more wicked...a sort of grim satisfaction, she identified it.

One way or another, if it was the last thing she ever did, _Regina would have her revenge on Snow White!_

* * *

While Belle was gone, Rumpelstiltskin decided to wash the library windows. He had cleaned as high as he could reach in his little window nook, but on a whim, he drug out the long pole and tied a sponge to the end of it. Then, tying back the curtains with a swirl of dust motes and spill of bright sunlight that stung his eyes until they adjusted, Rumpelstiltskin examined they high windows critically.

These library windows were much taller than the ones in the Great Room, to reach that high he'd need both hands on his washing pole. So, he spread his feet apart, trying to put more weight on his good left foot. His balance would be somewhat precarious, but it was safer than scaling a ladder. And Rumpelstiltskin was rather pleased with his progress.

Sure, he'd have to close the curtains when Belle got back. But for now with the early March sunlight spilling in, the world outside bright and cheerful...it felt nice. This early back home, it would still be snowing. Baelfire had once gotten up early, when he was small, and built a snowman right in the front room by opening the window and letting the thick white fluff piled high in front of the windows fall inside.

Milah had been mad enough to spit fire when she woke up to a snowman in _her_ house but Rumpelstiltskin thought it was mildly hilarious. Enough to break up the dull string of boring winter mornings at least, and Bae was a good boy, so he didn't mind helping his papa shovel his snowfriend back outside. ("That's where he belongs, with the other snow people," he'd explained, and Bae nodded like that was sage wisdom.) Rumpelstiltskin let his mind wander while scrubbing halfway up a filthy window, wondering if Bae and the village children were making snowmen and snowwomen back home...

"What _are_ you doing?"

Rumpelstiltskin jolted, dropping the pole and too much weight fell onto his bad ankle, which lit up in pain and rolled underneath him. The lame spinner fell backwards with a yelp--

But he was propped up against something soft and tiny.

**Belle.**

Belle was a good five inches shorter than him, the pert tip of her nose level with the base of his neck. Her bare arms wrapped around his middle and for one moment Rumpelstiltskin sagged back against her. She was much stronger than she looked, softer too. Belle shifted, her chin pressing on his shoulder as she looked up at him. He had to turn his head as far to the right as he could to see her.

She shimmered in the light. Her glossy, porcelain-like skin was smooth and bright, and her blue eyes almost sparkled. She was lovely, with the soft little curls escaping her bun, begging to be tucked behind her ear-

_Oh gods what was wrong with him?_

"Uh, s-sorry," his hand shook, but his voice didn't. Much. "I was-I mean...Uh, th-thank you, m'lady..."

Belle pressed her lips together, glancing towards the half-cleaned windows. Then she blinked and pushed away from him. The spinner almost fell back into her but his ankle twinged again, so he staggered to keep his balance instead.

"Ah, here," Belle held his staff out to him, not quite looking him in the eye. "I, um, suppose I should be glad you didn't try to climb any ladders..."

Rumpelstiltskin didn't know what to do with his hands, and they clutched at his staff and twiddled together and smoothed his vest as a result. "Ah...y-yeah, I'm not...ladder-friendly, I s'pose, ahem. I'll, uh...I'll close up the curtains m'lady."

"What? Oh. Oh, don't worry about it," Belle waved her hand, turning away towards her desk. "If you're gonna go through the trouble washing the windows, might as well leave 'em open. Just be sure to close them up at night. Hmm?"

"I-Yes of course, I will," Rumpelstiltskin nodded quickly, bending down to pick up his window-washing pole...

He could still feel her cool, smooth arms around him, hands flat against his abdomen, and her cold little nose pressed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. For some reason, that had his stomach flipping most of all. And wondering if her sleek skin felt cold and polished all over...and wondering _why_ he was wondering _that_.

By the time he had finished washing windows, Belle had gone up to her tower and it was about time for him to start making dinner. With the sun going down, Rumpelstiltskin started closing up the curtains for the night. He looked forward to actually _seeing_ his work tomorrow. On the last window, though, Rumpelstiltskin paused.

Was that a blue firefly outside?

Was that firefly getting closer? And...larger? Slightly larger?

"What the...?" Rumpelstiltskin frowned, leaning closer to the window until his nose nearly pressed against it. There. Right there, was a sparkling six-inch woman fluttering outside of the window, with shimmery wings and a bell-shaped blue skirt. Blue?

Oh good gods it was the Blue flipping Fairy outside the Dark One's castle!

* * *

If the Blue Fairy didn't enter or touch the Dark Castle, Belle's wards wouldn't go off. Of course, that meant she couldn't do anything but watch. And she got lucky because she watched and saw the servant Belle had taken prisoner in the windows.

Belle had dressed him in a woolen vest and a shirt with an unbuttoned collar in a dusty-rose color. He didn't look starved or beaten, but there were other methods of harm the Dark One could inflict. He stared at her from the other side of the glass with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, and the Blue Fairy smiled at him as she studied the man's gaping face.

He was much older than she imagined. Easily over forty, a bit of gray in his shaggy hair, fine lines etched into his weathered face. A slight and scrawny thing too. Maybe Belle wasn't using him as a bedmate after all...she liked her pretty little trinkets, and this man certainly didn't fit her aesthetic.

"Hello," she bowed her head towards the man.

"You're...you're the Blue Fairy," he blinked.

"I am. And you are the servant of the Dark One-"

"Why are you here?"

The Blue Fairy faltered. "You...you're enslaved to the Dark One. I'm here to free you."

The man frowned, furrowing his brows. "How did you know I was here?"

"I-"

"No, no, never mind," the man held up a hand, shaking his head. "I don't want to know! Just leave this castle before the Dark One does...oh hell I don't even know what she'll do, but I gather she doesn't fancy fairies very much."

"No, she doesn't. But I can still help you. The Ogres have been defeated and I can help you reunite with your son, he's been l-"

"My son? _My son_?" A look of disbelief crossed the man's face and for a moment, the Blue Fairy thought she had reached him.

Then he gave her a fierce scowl and jabbed a finger at her behind the glass. The look in his dark eyes was frustration and anger and his brow crinkled as his scowl deepened.

"The Seventh Ogre War raged on for fifteen years! Children were taken from their homes and returned dead, or in worse states than that! You never once took an interest in stopping the bloodshed of our people, our children, and you honestly expect me to believe you want to save me out of the kindness of your heart?"

The Blue Fairy sat up a little straighter. "I am not the Dark One. When I offer my help, it's in the spirit of goodwill, the price isn't so grim as your life-"

"But all magic comes with a price," the man snapped. "You or the Dark One, Light Magic or Dark, there is no difference. That much I know! Now, good evening, Blue Fairy."

With a swish of the curtains, the Blue Fairy knew she'd been dismissed...

* * *

Belle came down for dinner and found Rumpelstiltskin setting out her meal. She was early, and when did that ever happen? She gave him a smile that she hoped wasn't as shy as she inexplicably felt, and just sat down in her chair when she noticed the peculiar look on her caretaker's face.

"Y'know, you're cooking's improved to the point that I don't think I'll send it back," she said after a beat, hoping to lure a self-depreciating chuckle or little shy smile out. Instead, Rumpelstiltskin licked his lips nervously.

"M'lady...d-do..." he seemed to search for the right words, shifting to hold onto his staff with both hands. "What...what are your terms with the Blue Fairy? I-I only mean, y-you seemed friendly with Queen Regina a-an', you know, _that_ happened, s-so what I-"

A chill went down Belle's spine and she leaned forwards, gripping her armrests.

**"Was the Blue Fairy here?"**

It didn't matter that Rumpelstiltskin flinched in that moment because nothing he said would top her own rage at that insufferable blue fly!

"I-I was closin' up the curtains in the library, a-and she was outside the window..." Rumpelstiltskin was shaking a bit now, so Belle took a deep breath and reigned in her rage until he didn't look terrified. "Sh-she said...she said that she wanted to help me. Escape. She said the Ogres had been defeated and-I told her I wouldn't m'lady, I closed the curtains-"

"She didn't come in?"

"No m'lady-"

"Did you give her your name?"

"No! I didn't tell her anything m'lady!" the spinner's free hand waved around wildly. "I j-jus' thought you'd want to know after the Queen's visit!"

Belle recalled the last time she felt this sort of paranoid anger, her caretaker had unlocked the dungeon door for Robin Hood. No wonder he looked like he was about to flee. She took her second deep breath in two minutes and sat back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. She took a third breath just to be sure, then locked eyes with Rumpelstiltskin.

"Okay. As long as you didn't give her your name...but," Belle bit her lip. "Tell me exactly what she said."

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. "She said she was the Blue Fairy, f-first. And I asked her why she was here, uh, _there_ I s'pose, a-and she somehow knew I was your servant. She kept offering to help me escape, but I wouldn't do it-"

"Why?" Belle blurted, then cursed herself for interrupting again. Ugh! Curse her curiosity!

But the spinner shrugged, looking just as confused as she was. Other than the obvious perk of irritating the crap out of her, why would that jellyfish care about enabling Rumpelstiltskin to escape? If Robin Hood stole the wand for the Blue Fairy like Belle suspected, (she also suspected the man had strictly honorable intentions she couldn't punish him for, _damn it_ ,) he might've also mentioned her caretaker. Hmm...

"She was most adamant about it, though," Rumpelstiltskin said. "The more I said I wouldn't, the more...ah..."

"The more of a superiority complex she got?" Belle smirked. "Yeah, she does that when you disagree."

Her caretaker suddenly looked a bit...sheepish? What was that?

"Ah...well yes, but..." Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat. "I may have...told her some things."

_'What?'_

"What?" Belle watched her caretaker fidget, running his tongue lover his lower lip again.

"W-well, I think I started off with something about how the fairies never helped the Frontlands during the Ogre Wars, how they let our children and people die...and maybe sort of called her a hypocrite? Aaaaand I also might've told her that as far as I'm concerned magic is magic and shut the curtains on her..."

His timid brown eyes met hers as he trailed off, almost like he expected her to object. Object? _Her?_ Oh hell no!

Belle threw her head back and laughed, flicking her wrist so that his chipped cup appeared on the table full of steaming tea. She jumped to her feet with a joyful twirl and whoop, and wrapped her arms around him so that her hands were on his shoulders from behind him.

"You are taking dinner with me tonight! I have decided!" she grinned. "D'you know how obnoxious that little blue jellyfish is? She thinks she's the best thing in the air, and she turned a man into a cricket once instead of helping the kid who's parents had been turned into the Realm's Creepiest Puppets."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows drew together, but the corner of his mouth lifted up in an utterly charming little smile. "Those wouldn't be the puppets over there, would it?"

"Well yes, but! That was not my fault at all," Belle's nose crinkled up. "C'mon, sit down, I'll tell you what happened, c'mon."

She nudged him towards a second chair that poofed into existence to the right of her own chair. It was for the best that her caretaker was so willing at her pushing, because otherwise Belle might do something stupid to mess it up. Like kiss that lovely little dimple bracketing his smile, or nuzzle against the juncture of his neck and shoulder like she wanted to do when he fell into her earlier...yes, those would be bad. Bad Belle, no!

Rumpelstiltskin sat down, propping his staff against the table edge so he could pick up his teacup with both hands. He smiled at her again, sheepishly now. It spoke volumes on how far they'd come since that first day some four months ago. "You really don't like fairies, do you m'lady?"

"Well...mostly it's just the Blue Fairy herself I have issues with," Belle demurred, sitting back down. "The others are just sort of her entourage, y'know? I almost wish I was there to see her little face when you shut the curtains!"

Her caretaker chuckled. "You know, I really thought you would be upset with what I did..."

Belle pressed her lips against the rim of her own teacup, buying time while she took a sip. Well...if she thought about it, she was upset. But not at Rumpelstiltskin though. She wasn't sure if it was that blue gnat trespassing and accosting her caretaker...or the idea of losing her caretaker through an escape that made her so upset though. Maybe both?

Belle glanced up and thought she thought she heard a voice at the back of her mind whispering to her. It sounded suspiciously familiar...

**Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I did enjoy giving Blue ye brush off! Ha-ha! XD
> 
> Chapter XIVIII: A little birdie sends Bae word about his Papa, and Rumpelstiltskin comes to a revelation.


	18. XVIII. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle agreed to create a curse for Regina, the Blue Fairy failed at leading Rumpelstiltskin away, and an eventful evening began to unfold...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Being your slave, what should I do but tend_  
>  Upon the hours and times of your desire?  
> I have no precious time at all to spend,  
> Nor services to do, till you require.  
> Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour  
> Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,  
> Nor think the bitterness of absence sour  
> When you have bid your servant once adieu;  
> Nor dare I question with my jealous thought  
> Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,  
> But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought  
> Save, where you are how happy you make those.  
> So true a fool is love that in your will,  
> Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.  
> \--Shakespeare's Sonnet 57

"Can I ask you a question Rumple?" Belle asked as lightly as possible, hoping she wouldn't put Rumpelstiltskin on the defensive.

Perhaps when he first arrived who would've shrunk back into his shell, but as it stood, her caretaker just fiddled with his teacup and avoided her eyes. "If...if I might ask you one, too, m'lady? W-would that be alright?"

Belle recalled thinking of Rumpelstiltskin as a bedraggled puppy once. He was very puppyish now, with his round, shy brown eyes and always-so-slightly messy hair. She knew she'd be agreeing to this deal before she even consented. "Me first though," she nodded, and her caretaker smiled shyly, tapping a rhythym on the edge of his cup as he waited. So very much like and eager puppy that Belle almost wanted to pet his head and tell him he was a good boy.

She considered it proof of her self-control that she did not.

"When you were offered a chance to escape the Dark Castle...why didn't you take it?" she asked at length.

Rumpelstiltskin frowned a bit, gazing thoughtfully into his cup of untouched tea. "I suppose I didn't want to...break our deal. You said this was forever." He made an all-encompassing gesture with his hands, and Belle felt herself smiling. "T-to be honest...th-this is sort of the only truly right thing I've ever done. When I...when I crippled myself-" (Belle didn't like that term anymore than he seemed too, "cripple" was such a pale description of what he'd done to his own foot to go home to his family,) "-I thought that my wife might understand. That she'd...she'd understand I didn't want to die a hero, I'd rather live for my family. But Milah didn't see it that way. I made her the wife of the man who ran. Women don't really like being married to cowards, you know."

A dozen scenarios popped up in Belle's active mind at that particular phrasing. She wasn't sure if it was prejudice in favor of her hard-working caretaker or a dislike for how Rumpelstiltskin thought nothing of talking himself down, but she asked anyway, "What happened?"

"To Milah?" her caretaker blinked. "Th-that's a little difficult to answer. She, well, she wasn't happy at home and our neighbors weren't exactly friendly either so she wound up at the tavern more and more often. She'd taken to chatting up travelers for a glimpse of the outside world. Milah had always wanted to travel, y'see, I imagine being tied down to me...hampered her a bit. Then we had a son, and with the war...well it was never possible. But she was carried off by this pirate she'd been...keeping company, a-and...and I don't know what happened next. I've raised Bae alone every since."

The way he bit off that last sentence left Belle willing to bet her rather impressive gold reserves that he knew the wife had run away from her responsibilities for the sake of a handsome stranger. Belle was also left wondering just how blinded by bitterness the woman was to abandon a child, and a tender husband who just wanted to be there for his family.

Belle looked down at her shiny white fingers, picking at the blue polish on her nails. "Well, that's that. So! What's your question for me, my spinner?"

It might've been her imagination, but she thought she saw her caretaker blush at that. How odd.

"W-well...I found a crest upstairs..." and if those words didn't make Belle feel even more nervous than he looked. "I-it's called a Marchland Sea Hare, I think. On a blue-and-white checked background. Was that your family's coat of arms m'lady?"

 _'He's asking too many questions,'_ the Darkness whispered. _'Don't you remember what people who ask questions want? Weaknesses! Put the fear of the Dark One back into him! Teach him a lesson about curiosity!'_

Belle carefully examined her nails while she methodically pushed each dark whisper back into it's box at the back of her mind. Sometimes she fancied she had a mental Pandora's Box to keep all the Dark Ones silently locked away within. It felt like longer, but Belle supposed she'd only let the pause drag on for about ten seconds or so when she took a deep breath that released into a sigh.

"Yes. That was my father's coat of arms. He was a knight, really more commoner than noble, but he was a good man. Good for his people. Just...just not such a good father."

Rumpelstiltskin took a sip of tea. (That had to be getting cold by now. How long had they been sitting here?) "I've gathered as much."

"How so?"

Rumpelstiltskin began tapping the rim again, until Belle wondered if he'd chip another part of the cup. "It's just that you...you always talk about my son like he's lucky to have been, er, my son. Like your father wasn't very present in your life."

"Oh, he was," Belle slumped back against her chair, crossing her arms in a way that looked very sulky. "Just not...very well. He didn't understand me, and that's about that." It wasn't really as simple as _that_ , but it was enough of an explanation for now.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned on his elbows. "And your mother?"

Belle looked at her caretaker for a long moment, then gave him a frail smile. "She was my hero. She was...kind and smart and strong and I'll never forget her...just as I'll never forget you've broken out deal."

A moment of panic crossed Rumpelstiltskin's brown eyes and Belle smiled mischeviously.

"Oh yes, _you_ asked me two questions instead of the agreed-upon one," she waggled a finger theatrically at her caretaker, glad to see him relax and even smile her way a bit.

The spinner bowed his head a bit. He chuckled a little, too, a lovely rumble in his throat. "So did you, m'lady."

Belle bit her lip through her smile, as an idea sprang to mind. It wasn't quite impulsive, and she should have offered him this service months ago if she'd had her head screwed on right...

"Well if your going to be that way," she toyed with her fork, pretending to examine the tines while pretending to ignore the slightly anxious, slightly curious look on her caretaker's face. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you that you can write home to your son-"

"I can do that?" Rumpelstiltskin blurted out, nearly dropping his teacup. "H-how? When would it reach him?"

Belle quashed the bit of guilt at not offering this service sooner behind a cool, practiced mask of serenity. "I'm not sure, not longer than two days, though. Three if the weather turns. All you have to do is write the letter and I'll take care of it."

"I will, I will, uh, thank you, um," Rumpelstiltskin got to his feet faster than a crippled probably should. "Wh-where can I get the paper and a quill?"

Belle smiled at his eagerness, picking up her napkin and a fork. She flapped out the napkin and they shimmered gold, turning into a length of parchment and a quill, offering them to him. "Here you are."

Rumpelstiltskin gave her a wide grin as he snatched them up. "Thank you Belle," he darted back through the kitchen, probably for privacy to write his son's let-

_'Did he just call me Belle?'_

* * *

Spreading out the parchment on a clean part of the kitchen island and seizing the quill in his fluttering hand, Rumpelstiltskin wrote _Dear Bae_ at the top of the letter...and paused.

Oh gods. What was he supposed to say? Where did he start? Rumpelstiltskin hadn't written a letter since his disasterous trip to the frontlines fourteen years ago. He'd penned two letters to Milah on a scrap of paper with a quill he may have...borrowed, from a superior officer's tent. (He gave it back.) He figured "Dear Bae" was a good start though.

Rumpelstiltskin had so many things he wanted to say. Perhaps he could use up both sides of the parchment? Eventually, with his good leg bouncing restlessly, Rumpelstiltskin managed to commit some of his fast-flying thoughts to paper.

_Dear Bae, It's your papa here, and I'm happy to say I'm doing well. I may not recommend a career as the Dark One's caretaker to anyone, as she does have her mood swings, but she certainly hasn't treated me worse than our neighbors at home. How are you?_

Rumpelstiltskin frowned down at that. He wasn't sure if Belle would permit his son to send a letter back. He scratched that out and wrote down something different. Once he began, it was much easier, and he filled the space with words after a length of time. He signed his name at the bottom, looking at the ridiculously long signature and the space left. He took up the quill again (it had yet to run out of ink, occassionally his mistress's magic was amazingly helpful,) and added: _Your_ _Papa_.

He limped back to the Great Room where Belle was picking at her plate. (He'd forgotten about dinner, oops.) The spinner rolled up the letter and Belle glanced up, her eyes rather light and gentle.

His mistress was a very beautiful lady, her eyes were the bluest he had ever seen, but Rumpelstiltskin found his mistress's behavior more interesting. She could be kind, or unrelentingly stubborn, or tragically broken. Really her "darkness" was only a small part of her personality. She smiled with pale lips and accepted the rolled up letter, standing up from the table.

"All done?"

"Yes m'lady..." Rumpelstiltskin paused. "How are you going to send it?"

Belle looked at him for a moment, then smiled again. "From my tower. Would you like to see?"

The tower? Rumpelstiltskin, for all the positive he'd found in his mistress, her had still not quite dissuaded himself from the idea that the tower was where his mistress skinned people. Perhaps not children, but he wasn't sure she didn't have a human-hide dress somewhere...

But she was offering.

And he was a bit curious...

"A-alright..."

* * *

Belle stopped him at the door with a hand on his chest. Her hand wasn't quite warm, but it wasn't exactly cold either. Her hand was up high enough that some of her fingertips pressed against the bare skin below the dip in his collarbones, so Rumpelstiltskin could tell. A shiver went up his spine at the cool, smooth texture pressed against his too-warm flesh-

"Okay, here are the rules if you're gonna go in there," she said, and Rumpelstiltskin focused. "Do not touch anything. Do not bump anything so that it might fall and break. There is a pot bubbling over a burner, by the gods, do not sniff it. It would be a shame to have you partially turned to stone or transform into a lizard. Understand?"

"Ah, y-yes m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin nodded briskly. He wouldn't touch anything, and he'd try not to bump anything. Under no circumstances was he sniffing anything, even before she warned against it.

Then, Belle opened the door.

There was bottles of different sizes, shapes, and contents tucked away on the shelves or spread out across the tables. There were also boxes and jars (some glowing, some bubbling,) and canisters like the tea was kept in downstairs. There was all sorts of glassware, beakers and tubes and little dishes, with various powders and liquids in them, spread out everywhere amidst the bottles. And while there weren't as many as the library, there were still plenty of books everywhere in the room. It was chaos, maybe organized to Belle's standards, but Rumpelstiltskin wondered how someone who loved books so much could leave them out everywhere.

There were also two large windows, shuttered, and Belle went over to the one on the right and flung it open. A cool breeze wafted in, smelling vaguely salty and crisp. Rumpelstiltskin limped over as Belle set the parchment letter on a nearby table and leaned out the window, supported by her forearms so that her little bare feet barely touched the ground.

"Hmm...where are you..."

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure who she was talking to. A gray dove fluttered to the window sill near Belle's hand, and it stared at Rumpelstiltskin with bright eyes, ticking it's little head to the side in a 'Who are you?' sort of gesture.

Belle giggled, holding her hand out for the dove to climb up on. Which it did. "Hello, it's been a while now hasn't it? This is my new caretaker, Rumpelstiltskin. Rumple, this is my loyal messenger, I call him Dove."

The dove, er, _Dove_ , stared at Rumpelstiltskin. There only seemed to be one thing to say.

"How do you do?" the spinner bobbed his head.

Dove inclined his head in turn, politely.

_'Sure. Why not?'_

Belle picked up the parchment roll and flicked her wrist. There was a swirl of golden smoke and when it cleared, the parchment was secured to Dove's leg. Belle then placed him back down on the window and smiled.

"Now, take this to...Bae? Is that his name?"

Rumpelstiltskin shifted a bit. "Ah, Baelfire, actually. A bit of a mouthful, so usually people call him Bae."

Belle turned back to Dove. "Did you catch that?"

Dove nodded.

"Excellent. Off you go then, Dove," the tiny sorceress fluttered her hand, shooing the bird out the window. The spinner watched until the bird was no longer even a speck on the dark horizon, and swallowed.

"Th-thank you."

Belle bit her lip, peering up at him through her dark lashes. "Ah...it's nothing, really. Dove is good at finding things. All he needs is a name, really."

"No, I mean...th-this means a lot to me. I hated my life and I don't miss my neighbors at all, but Baelfire..." Rumpelstiltskin signed, closing his eyes and conjuring up a picture of his son's face. "Bae is all I've ever really had. I-I may have had to be parted from him, but this is hardly the most difficult thing I've done to protect him."

He looked down at his bad foot, and so did Belle.

Cool little fingers brushed against his wrist. Rumpelstiltskin shivered even as his face heated.

"You could write another letter whenever you want," Belle murmured, not looking away from the window now. "You can use the paper from the closet, I've got plenty of quills...

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at her out the corner of his eye. She looked so...vulnerable, and small. Logically he knew the Dark One was small but she hardly ever _looked_ small. The desire to wrap his arms around her and brush that stray curl off her cheek welled up inside the spinner. He had never felt such an odd desire before, not at his most infatuated with Cora, or on the best of terms with Milah...could he love the Dark One?

Could he love Belle?

Epic tales and poems had always described the moment you knew you were in love as something like a brilliant burst of light, as stark and sudden as lightining in the sky. The handsome knight rescuing the damsel in distress, the charming prince and beautiful princess falling in love at first sight, the noble hero sweeping the enchanted lady off her dainty feet. Rumpelstiltskin realized he, at the very least, cared deeply for the tiny sorceress beside him looking out a window where a carrier pigeon had flown out not two minutes ago.

The spinner let his hand follow Belle's as it pulled away, letting the backs of their hands brush together. He smiled when he felt her sleek skin press against his.

_'Epic love stories are overrated anyway...'_

* * *

Dove had been with Belle for about two hundred years. For all intents and purposes, he was immortal for as long as he served as the Dark One's messenger. Not the worst gig he'd ever had, really, and he was free to do as he pleased until Belle called on him. Usually she either wanted a message delivered, or somebody located. (If she wanted them located, what followed when he reported back was an odd game of dipping his bird-toes in ink and scratching out locations on maps.)

He wasn't sure when Belle had taken on a caretaker. Then again it had been something like a year since she'd last called for him. The Dark One had changed him into a bird as per request when he was at a particularly low point in his human life. Dove was big enough that he imagined he looked like an Ogre compared to the tiny sorceress that offered to change him into a bird, if he would be her messenger.

There had always been a core of good intentions in Belle, but something seemed to have changed his mistress lately. Belle was dressed differently, and she had a caretaker. A _live-in_ caretaker. Dove couldn't recall Belle ever so much as inviting a guest to the castle, let alone let someone live there with her. (Well...there had been that one vile student but Belle was quick to ban her from the castle at all costs.) And the Dark One traded in her deep-cut blouses and leather jerkins for softer, more feminine clothing...

It was almost as if she were smitten with her scruffy little caretaker.

Speaking of, the man seemed to be an unusual one. Dove had been cursed with a body far too large, but a high capacity for common sense along with it. He could tell that the choking darkness around Belle was lighter than before. Therefore, he had to assume that the slight man with the walking stick had to have been a contributing factor.

Belle was letting him send out a message to his son. That must've meant something.

Baelfire was northwest, about a solid day and a half of flight away. In land-travel, Dove estimated it would take roughly four weeks of well-paced marching to get from the Dark Castle to the village. His internal radar led him to a small-but-neat stable in the small hamlet, where the snow had not yet begun to melt.

Dove stuck to the rafters, at first, because he spotted a small gray cat grooming itself on a pile of discarded hay. He may be immortal, but having a cat chew on him was still unpleasant. His senses buzzed like mad when he settled his eyes on a wiry young boy brushing out the coat of a black mare, who had dark eyes like Belle's caretaker.

_Baelfire._

* * *

Duchess was a pretty horse with fur so dark it looked like black velvet. Or at least what Bae imagined black velvet looked like. He made sure that her coat was brushed clean and shiny and smooth, though, to keep up that appearance. She was the tallest mare in the stables, but sweet-tempered, so that neither Bae nor the stable owner feared he'd be trampled by her.

Bae was just giving Duchess a friendly pat on her neck when he noticed the bird perched on the edge of the stall. It seemed to be watching him, no, it _was looking right at him_. And it had a message tied to it's little leg.

The bird cooed when Bae asked, "Is that for me?" and if that wasn't absurd enough, it flapped right at him, forcing Bae to cup his hands for it to perch on. Apparently, the message was for him.

Bae plucked the loose string free and picked up the roll of parchment. He glanced from it to the bird for a long moment, then realized he'd never gotten a message by pigeon (or was it a dove?) before. What was he supposed to do now?

He settled for giving it a polite "thank you" and letting it sit on the edge of the stall again. (The bird was content with that and began preening idly.) Then, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the just-cleaned stall, Bae unrolled the parchment.

He was glad he'd sat down first.

_Dear Bae, It's your papa here, and I'm happy to say I'm doing well. I may not recommend a career as the Dark One's caretaker to anyone, as she does have her mood swings, but she certainly hasn't treated me worse than our neighbors..._

By the end of the letter, signed  _"Rumpelstiltskin, your Papa",_ Bae rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt like crying and laughing all at once because his papa was alive, a servant of the Dark One, but well, but trapped in her castle...he had a lot of conflicted feelings, but chief among them was relief.

It had to have been a good sign that Papa sent him a message, right? Bae wondered if his father had snuck the message out or if the Dark One permitted it. Probably the former, Papa could be very sneaky when he wanted to. Although maybe the Dark One (Belle, Red had called her,) had decided that Papa could be trusted not to escape, and let him send the letter?

In the end, it didn't matter. It didn't even matter that, at some point, because he hadn't noticed the bird had flown away until just then. And even then...

**He didn't notice the small blue light darting outside the stables that Dinah gave a half-hearted lunge at.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem at the start of the chapter is Shakespeare's Sonnet 57. Full credits to Lana311990 for introducing it to me! Isn't it perfection for this situation? *sparkles*
> 
> Chapter XIX: The Blue Fairy makes a move, and a hazard of springtime, and a different kind of move is made...


	19. XIX. Blossoming in the Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Rumple sent a message to Bae, and realized he cared for the Dark One far more than a servant should...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hopes for tonight's episode are somewhere between nil and zero. So! Heeeere's an Update: Sunday Edition, hopeful to ease the fan-rage I smell brewing in the winds. *sniff* Ooh, and roses!

At first, his papa's letter assured Baelfire that everything was going to be fine. But the next morning, Baelfire wanted to get to the castle more than ever so he could be sure of it. So, Baelfire had done some questioning around the village, and found he was in luck about two weeks later as the snow began to melt and the roads began clearing.

A carpenter who'd been trapped in the village since December when he was snowed in was leaving town. He was pulling a large cart that he'd used to haul in his furniture and wares, and his big cart horse Phillipe was one of Bae's favorite animals in the barn.

If Bae would pay the carpenter two silver pieces, then he would take the boy as far South as his home. According to Red's map, the carpenter's village was right on the way to the Dark Castle, deep in an abandoned part of the Marchlands. It couldn't have been more perfect.

Red wasn't home when Bae went to tell her the news, but he pushed a note under her door saying _**'Thank you for your help, I've got a ride with Wallace the carpenter, and I'm off to the castle. I'll tell Papa you said hello.'**_ With that done, all he had to do was pack up his things and collect his final wages from the stable owner.

While Baelfire was packing on his final night in the stables, the dim light of his lantern grew brighter. And...bluer?

A soft tinkling noise was what caused Baelfire to turn around, and he came face-to-fairy with a glowing blue woman, dressed in a puffy gown with delicate silvery wings fluttering behind her. This had to have been the Blue Fairy, and for a moment, all Baelfire could do was gape at her.

The fairy proved to be more polite, smiling graciously at him. "Hello child, I'm sorry it took so long to find you."

"You...were looking for me?" Bae blinked. He dimly recalled asking the Blue Fairy for help. But that was months ago...well, she did just say that it had taken a long time to find him. Maybe he was hard to locate? Like the one sheep they'd had that always snuck away from the herd, no matter how close he and Papa had watched it. At least until it had been killed by a neighbor's dog-

"Of course. You're trying to save your father from the Dark One. That's very brave of you, but you need more than bravery to face the Dark One," the Blue Fairy was saying. "If you and your father truly wish to escape her power, you'll need my help."

The fairy waved her wand, and suddenly a slight weight filled Bae's right hand. He looked down to find a quill and parchment in his loose fist, the feather was blood red and the parchment crisp and white. As he examined them closer, the Blue Fairy explained what they were.

"The Dark One is clever, but she can be outwitted. Simply offer her this contract, stating you will serve her as your father does. She will sign it because she can never resist a deal where she comes out ahead, and the magic in the quill will paralyze her for a full hour. You and your father will need to escape her property, and then I can help you find a safe place to hide from her wrath."

Baelfire frowned. "What if the Dark One holds me to this contract?"

"Oh, she won't. The magic is in the quill, as soon as she goes to sign it, it activates," the Blue Fairy said. "I simply can't stand by and let the Dark One hold an innocent man captive. I've tried to help him myself, but the Dark One's magic is too powerful for me to directly intervene."

Worry stabbed Bae between the ribs. "Is Papa in trouble?"

"Not...yet," the Blue Fairy pursed her lips. "But he's enslaved to the most powerful being in our realm, I wouldn't want to be in that position for all the fairy dust in the Enchanted Forest."

Bae looked down to the parchment and enchanted quill in his hands. Something about this felt...off. What was it Papa had always said about fairies and wizards? _'All magic comes with a price.'_ Well Baelfire knew that: That's why Papa was captive now, because of the Dark One's price. What was the price of this magic the Blue Fairy offered him though?

"What will happen to Papa and I?" Bae asked, looking up at her questioningly. "Will we have to pay a price for this?"

The Blue Fairy pursed her lips together again. She almost looked _almost_ annoyed. "You must escape the Dark One's grounds before the spell wears off, that's the only condition," she stressed, and Bae thought she might take her offer back for a moment. "Do you accept my help or not, young Baelfire?"

Well...given the choice between marching up to the Dark One's gate without a plan beyond seeing his father, and having an escape plan for the both of them...

"Yes," he nodded. "I will, thank you for your help."

* * *

Belle had forgotten about the blue paint on the walls of her library until Rumpelstiltskin opened the curtains. She'd forgotten what a light, airy space it was, how pretty it looked filled with light, and how comfortable it was to curl up in the window seat in a blanket (or her gold knit shawl,) with a book and laze the sunny day away.

Her poor caretaker, though, didn't quite have that lazy option today.

When her noontime tea was late, Belle checked the Great Room to see if he hadn't left it there. He wasn't there either, so Belle began a methodical search of her castle, not in the least bit worried about her caretaker. No. She just wanted to make sure he hadn't been carried off by gods-know-who to gods-knew-where, so that gods-know-who could come and demand gods-know-what for his safe return. It was easy for her to just know where he was, that's all.

So she was relieved to find Rumpelstiltskin in the side yard where he did laundry, cursing a blue streak somewhere between the sheets hanging in the mid-March breeze.

And all of them were dusted with greenish-yellow.

Belle giggled, poking her head around a sheet to watch her normally reserved caretaker swearing with a thickened brogue as he aggressively yanked down another sheet and stuffed it into a basket of things that needed to be rewashed. "I see you've found out about the pine trees."

Rumpelstiltskin actually turned and _glared_ at the nearest pine tree, responsible for the mess of pollen on the clean sheets and literally filling the air with the stuff. "I have never hated a tree more in my life."

He said it so grimly, Belle couldn't help but laugh again.

"You might wanna string up your ingenious clothesline in the kitchen again until next week or so," Belle said, reaching up and plucking the clothespins that held up the sheet in front of her. She had to stand on the very tips of her toes and _stretch_ but she managed. Magic was very useful when you were hardly bigger than one of those damned fairies, but Belle wasn't entirely dependent upon it.

Rumpelstiltskin got the other side, and the one pin in the middle as Belle reached for it. He was hardly taller than her, but he still fairly loomed over her from behind as he reached up with his free hand to released the pin. Belle caught the newly loosened end of the sheet and turned to be almost nose-to-nose with her caretaker, who stepped back more out of respect for her space than fear.

Respect was a foreign concept to Belle, usually. Most people she dealt with were just afraid of her. Regina, and it pained Belle to admit, was probably the only person that had an inkling of respect for her, and that was just an inkling. Well...Rumpelstiltskin was different at least.

He took the sheet from her and wadded it up, dropping it on top of his basket and bobbed his head with a polite little "thank you" before moving to the next item on the line. Belle took a moment to admire the recent string of sunny days effect on her caretaker.

He had been tanned when she brought him to her castle, but winter had faded. Now that Rumpelstiltskin was spending a bit of time in the sun, he had a healthy color again, a few sun-kissed streaks in his tawny hair. His face was mostly-clean-shaven and he was wearing the lighter warm-weather clothes she'd given him, a white cotton shirt unbuttoned around his collarbones and a golden brown vest, and trousers of a slightly darker color tucked into leather boots. Belle wasn't sure if they were tighter or the fact that her caretaker had gained a healthy amount of weight, but the lighter-weight summer trousers seemed to be more... _fitted_ , on Rumpelstiltskin.

She was interrupted from her trouser-pondering by her innocent caretaker asking, "Is there something you needed, m'lady?"

 _Are you offering something?'_ a naughty part of Belle wanted to reply. "Ah, just wondering where you wandered off too. It's about time for lunch, I had to be sure you hadn't been spirited away by goblins or the like."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. "You will be the first one to know should that happen. Will you want your tea in the library or the Great Room, m'lady?"

"The Great Room will do. Would you care to join me?" Belle asked as casually as possible while at the same time clinging desperately to this lighthearted moment with her caretaker. They were happening more and more often, when she just delighted in the company of another intelligent human being, but they were still too few for Belle's tastes.

And she never quite forgot that for all intents and purposes, they were mistress and servant. Employee and employer. ( _Employess_?) Belle had bought his "forever", and Rumpelstiltskin had bartered for an end to the Ogre Wars. They were, perhaps, something like friends now...but that's all she could ever expect for them to be...

"I'd like that," her spinner smiled bashfully. "Thank you."

That didn't mean, of course, that was all she wanted. Belle could acknowledge that with the sweetly sharp sting between her ribs even as she beamed.

"Excellent! I'll meet you in the Great Room then," she spun around gracefully, gliding back inside.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin had lost all track of time (as well as his temper) when he came back to find the linens mostly dry and coated with pine pollen. Four and a half months ago he would've contemplating hiding in a corner and praying his mistress's wrath didn't fall upon him for being late with her luncheon...but something had shifted and apparently now Belle was coming to remind him he'd forgotten.

It was odd, but in a nice way, he decided.

Then Belle asked him to join her. And she looked...dare he say it, hopeful about that, too. Her little hands were folded in front of her while she swayed back and forth slightly so that her patched shirts swirled prettily. The spinner would admit that he was rather fond of when Belle wore golden hues, but the broad squares of silver-blue silk and white linen patterned with blue cornflowers, stitched with thick leather cord, was certainly fetching.

The bodice of her dress laced up in the front with a plunging sweetheart neckline, a cut Belle (and Rumpelstiltskin, if he were honest,) favored lately, but the black lace chemise underneath afforded a little more coverage. He felt very simple in his plain trousers, white shirt, and leather vest, standing by Belle. But he supposed the Dark One was allowed to wear some sort of eccentric finery.

He had grown almost fond of how she never wore shoes, painting the nails in bright colors instead. Today's color was pale gold, with matching fingertips, and Rumpelstiltskin met Belle's waiting blue eyes. Sometimes it was easier to do these days, and other days...it wasn't, but he wasn't really _afraid_ anymore. And he didn't quite miss the spark behind her flat eyes when he said yes.

She breezed back inside and Rumpelstiltskin allowed his thoughts to wander back to the quick, sunny little smile Belle gave him before she spun around.

He finished stuffing the basket with the (dirty) laundry and dragged it back inside through the kitchen door. The tea things were already assembled on a tray, all the spinner had to do was put the kettle on. In short order, he arrived in the Great Room with the tray and placed it on the table where Belle was sitting.

Why Belle was forever sitting _on_ the table instead of the perfectly good chair three feet away was a mystery Rumpelstiltskin had yet to uncover. But he poured her tea anyway and handed her the creamy, sugary mix that was received with a pleased little smile that looked very pretty on her pale white lips.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled back shyly, leaning his hip against the table to take the weight off his bad foot. "What room was this when it was your father's castle, m'lady?"

If Rumpelstiltskin chose the proper time, and proper phrasing, then Belle would tell him a little bit about the castle's history. He tried to make his questions as unobtrusive as possible, but sometimes he couldn't help but fish for information about her past. Belle was either unaware of his game or simple indifferent, and she took a sip of tea while she thought.

"Mm...s'pose you'd call it a council chambers. Where the old men went to say how things should be run. I used to sit in that nook over there and listen," she inclined her head to a little alcove between windows. "They never paid me any mind if I was quiet. I learned more about Avonlea in here than my governess ever taught me."

Rumpelstiltskin poured his own cup of tea, humming thoughtfully. "What does a governess do exactly? Is she a sort of child-minder, or a teacher?"

"Sort of both. Aristocrats don't dare raise their own children, not when they have people for that," Belle rolled her eyes, as if at an annoying reminder. "Girls are passed from nannies to governesses, and then wizened old chaperones and handmaidens. Gods know what boys are given over to, though I imagine at fifteen they're thrown to a courtesan with instructions to make _men_ out of them."

The spinner nearly choked on his tea and Belle bit her lip, either in apology or trying to stifle a laugh. Maybe both. Probably both.

"Not a topic for polite conversation?" the Dark One finally giggled. "Sorry."

"I, uh, it was just...unexpected, s'all," Rumpelstiltskin swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Um, d-do they really do that? That seems...morally questionable. Not to mention ethically."

"Yeah well," Belle shrugged, closing herself off for some reason. "The rules are different for boys and girls when you're talking nobility. Men are for inheriting titles and fighting wars, women are for producing heirs and lying on their backs to unite kingdoms."

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help but softly laugh at that until he noticed Belle giving him a funny look, prompting him to grin nervously and flutter one hand in the air. "I was just, uh, thinking about how Cora and Regina would feel about that rule, m'lady."

And Belle did laugh at that, nearly spilling tea onto the carpet. "Oh! Oh I imagine they broke that rule seven different ways!"

Rumpelstiltskin laughed again, for a longer time than he remembered in a long while. When her laughter subsided, Belle tilted her head curiously, crinkling her nose.

"Why did you come with me, Rumpelstiltskin?" she asked quietly, using his full name. "You didn't call on me. You could've stayed behind with your son, let me take someone who actually demanded my help instead..."

The spinner slowly set down his teacup, tracing patterns on the tabletop. _Why_ did he volunteer? Well to save his son, of course. And the other kids, too. But hadn't he already mentioned that? Well, in addition to saving the children that had been taken, or were going to be taken, Rumpelstiltskin supposed he didn't want to see anymore parents like Morraine's were: Crushed, without hope, utterly heartbroken. Or...or maybe it had been like when he'd been drafted. When he'd been so happy to have his chance at doing something great...fool that he was.

"I suppose..." he shrugged, looking out the tops of his eyes at Belle, perched on the table. "I wanted to do something instead of hiding. This was my chance to be remembered as more than the village coward, the man who ran."

Belle's gaze softened. "You wanted to be a hero."

Oh.

"I s'pose so," he chuckled, looking down at his fiddly hands. "I don't think any hero has ever volunteered to wash the Dark One's linens and serve her tea before though..."

Cool, sleek fingers pushed back a strand of his overlong hair, tucking it behind his ear. Rumpelstiltskin looked up and forgot whatever else he was planning on saying, finding Belle nearly nose-to-nose with him. Her breath smelled like her sugary tea and vanilla, and perhaps a bit of ink. His tongue ran over his lips unconsciously, almost as if he could taste the air between then like a serpent.

It was a great disappointment that he could not...

"Not all heroes carry swords," Belle murmured, her gaze lowering to his darting tongue. "Rumple..."

"A-aye?" Rumpelstiltskin blinked, swaying towards the warm puffs tickling his face.

"I...I want...you to know..." Belle swallowed, looking...afraid, for the first time the spinner had known her. "You...could visit Baelfire, i-if you wanted."

Rumpelstiltskin faltered. "You would...you would trust me to come back, Belle?"

The Dark One's pupils darkened as he spoke her name, but her lips twisted in a bitter smile. "I trust you would be happy."

Rumpelstiltskin's mouth was dry. Maybe that was because his palms were so sweaty. He wiped one hand off on his pants leg and placed it over Belle's, watching their hands meet to avoid her eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath.

"And...and if I was happy, here? If I came back?"

Belle looked down at their hands, and then back at him. Her full lips parted like he had stolen her breath and her eyes pleaded with him even as she said, "Well, s'pose you'd come back to make tea and wash linens and sort my books, if that's how you really wanted to spend your life..."

The spinner missed his son, yes. He wanted to see his boy again, but gods help him, he still wanted to come back to his mis-To Belle. Perhaps he could bring Bae back, too? Perhaps they could live here together? If Bae wasn't comfortable with that, maybe they could live in a nearby village, and Rumpelstiltskin could visit Belle in her castle?

He wanted a great deal more than to launder her sheets and serve her tea, in any case.

"And if it was?" his voice was barely a whisper now.

Belle moved suddenly, cupping his face in her cool little hands and pulling him forwards to press her mouth to his softly. Rumpelstiltskin's stomach flipped and he keened, eyes fluttering shut as his hands curled in the patchy skirts at her hips. The material was finer than he realized, a fraction of his spinner's mind marveled.

The rest of him melted into Belle's soft touch, utterly gobsmacked when she pulled back slowly, lightly nipping at his lower lip. The spinner blinked until he remembered how to breathe, feeling a foolish grin stretching his face. He doubted it would ever fade as he gazed at the Dark One, a sweet peachy-pink blush stealing over her marble-white skin from...

**From her lips...?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I am evil.
> 
> Chapter XX: Do you need to know?


	20. XX. All Magic Comes With A Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle kissed her sweet spinner when he said he would come back to her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update 'cause I'm gonna be super-busy tomorrow! PS, after Chapter XXV goes up, Imma add on to "A Brave New World". So if you want to start gifting me with ideas for that, feel free to swing my nifty Tumblr page: http://of-princes-and-savages.tumblr.com/

Belle hadn't planned on inviting her caretaker to tea with the intention of seducing him. Honestly she didn't even know what her plan was other than, _'get him to talk to me'_ , and that had rather unexpected consequences in itself. Her curiosity prompted her to ask why he, of all the villagers, volunteered, and his reasoning was so modestly humble that Belle imagined Rumpelstiltskin could sacrifice himself for an entire town of ungrateful villagers and still not understand how brave he was.

He was brave.

Her shy, sweet spinner was the bravest person she had ever met.

How could Belle not kiss him when he timidly asked to come back, all soft brown eyes and quiet determination? All to be with her? The breathless little noises he made when their lips touched made Belle want to both hold him close and devour him whole.

Rumpelstiltskin's kiss was chaste and innocent, but there was a delicious heat in his darkened eyes after she pulled back, and Belle wanted nothing more than to make him combust entirely. Some sixth sense told Belle that he might even enjoy being tucked away the cozy window seat, warmed by the sun and an afternoon of drowsy kisses and explorative touches...

She felt the tingly warmth spreading from her lips across the skin of her face, the lingering chill she'd felt since taking on the Dark One's curse melting away. It felt good...but wrong, too. What was causing that...?

And then Rumpelstiltskin had to go and blink, his smile replaced by worry. "Belle..." if he kept breathing her name like that she'd never let him go! "Wh-what's happening? You're turning sort of...pink."

Belle pushed the spinner away, looking down at her hands where she'd touched him. Her hands were turning a healthy shade of pink. Her curse was breaking. Belle's heart stuttered and she snapped up to the confused look on Rumpelstiltskin's face and felt the chill rush back into her bones. Her hands rippled and regained their glossy texture again, returning to the color of cold milk.

Then she vanished to her tower.

There, Belle grabbed the nearest object-a beaker of water, thankfully,-and hurled it at the wall with a sharp, splashy shower of glass pieces and liquid. With a curse foul enough to singe a sailors ears, Belle threw another glass-this one full of a harmless vinegar solution,-and stomped her bare foot.

True Love's Kiss.

_**True Love's Kiss!** _

This had to be some twisted, sick joke or terrible mistake, there was no way that the bloody Dark One could possible find true love with a meek, trembling, sweet fool like Rumpelstiltskin. It simply wasn't possible that a random peasant who volunteered to be her servant could be her soulmate, her missing half. It couldn't be possible to find that person after 300 years of rotten luck and loneliness!

It simply had to be a mistake.

And at this stage in her life, Belle couldn't afford to go back to being, well, Belle. She had made enemies of almost every magic practitioner in the Enchanted Forest. Not to mention some beyond those borders. She had 300 years of baggage that a mortal girl who barely reached five feet tall couldn't handle! How did this happen?

The Darkness in Belle churned to life violently, feeding her fears with tempting ideas: If she killed Rumpelstiltskin, he wouldn't break her curse. She didn't have to kill him though, she could just keep him captive here. He was a man after all, and just judging from his face alone, he wouldn't object too much to be made into her pet. He was as shy as a virgin, perhaps she could train him to please-

Her stomach roiled at the very thought. Belle was not Regi-No, she wasn't Cora-Ugh, Zelena for pity's sake, no!

She wasn't the type of sorceress to hold a man captive to her whims, to force him to warm her bed and please her. Just holding Rumpelstiltskin's heart in her hand to put it back made her feel ill. And he had so much trust in her now, she could see it in his liquid brown eyes, he couldn't possibly understand what just happened-

Oh gods.

What if this was Regina's doing?

Regina knew, already, or at least she had to suspect, that Belle was fond of him. What if Belle hadn't gotten back in time? What if Regina had given Rumpelstiltskin orders to gain her trust and kiss her? What if Regina had baited Belle with a fake heart, while she still had the real one? This could all be a mistake, it could be that her little caretaker was an unwitting accomplice in this matter. Or worse: A witting accomplice. He _was_ clever.

Belle paced back and forth in her tower, mulling over the possibilities. Few of them were good ones: The very best case scenario was that Rumpelstiltskin had just cluelessly accepted her kiss, and she had been mistaken about the True Love thing.

Worst cast at this point: He was working for Regina in a plot to strip her powers away from her, leaving Regina the most powerful in the realm.

Either way, something had to be done...

* * *

It was almost a full twenty-four hours after that disastrous kiss.

Rumpelstiltskin knew damn well that he wasn't much of a lover, Milah had never been eager to return his kisses on their own. Still...Belle had been the one to kiss him. Right? So she must've wanted it, hadn't she? Maybe his breath was bad, maybe she'd been repulsed by the needy whines that broke from his throat unbidden.

Maybe she'd come to her senses and realized he was beneath her.

In social standing, in personal matters, by every natural and logical reason, Rumpelstiltskin was always at the bottom of the ladder. Hell, even before she became the Dark One (however _that_ had happened) Belle would be so high above him that they'd never have met. And if they had, he would have been a filthy peasant, and she a fine lady.

Oh what the actual hell had he been thinking? To kiss Belle, his mistress? Oh gods he'd be lucky if she didn't throw him in a dungeon to rot. That wouldn't directly kill him, no deal violated, the peasant bastard taken care of so she was free to go about her merry way.

Rumpelstiltskin jumped at every noise, his hands shaking on and off, as the time slipped by. And then, on the morning of...well what he supposed would be the day after their _morning after,_ he peeked into the Great Room to find Belle sitting at the head of the big, round table with her legs crossed, her fisted hands on the arms. She was posed like a regal queen, too much like Queen Regina for Rumpelstiltskin's comfort.

He crept out, watching the tea tray balanced on his arm until he had to set it down on the table. He could feel Belle's eyes on him as he poured her tea. Lately, he had felt Belle watching him with a sort of curiosity...but this didn't feel like curiosity. Unfortunately it was still familiar: _Judgement._

The cup rattled on the saucer as he set it down in front of Belle. She made no move to take it from him. In fact, she just stared at it for a long moment, and then looked up at him. This time the spinner couldn't avoid her gaze, he stared back, feeling every bit like a bird pinned in place by a snake's dark gaze.

Belle was wearing a jerkin again, a tight black leather one cut low with long sleeves that ended in sharp points covering the backs of her hands, and an undershirt that was white with black embroidered lace. Her skirt was made from jagged pentagons of midnight-blue velvet, shimmery black satin, and chestnut leather. Her nails were painting black as a raven's talons and her hair was knotted up in a wispy bun as it hadn't been since he first arrived. Belle looked at him with cold, flinty eyes for a long time before she arched a delicate brow.

"You're _still_ here?"

Something stung behind the spinner's breastbone at her cold tone. "I-I wasn't...I didn't know i-if I was free to go yet, m'lady," Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. "And, er, I-I wouldn't know how to get back to the Frontlands from...wh-wherever here is-"

A crisp snap of her fingers made a map appear in front of Belle as she slumped back in her chair. "Anything more?"

Rumpelstiltskin felt unsteady on his feet, his stomach flipping. For weeks, Belle had been playful and kind at breakfast, asking him for opinions over books he'd read and how his days were passing. The Silent Breakfasts were no longer silent, and the spinner felt comfortable in the presence of the first person who wasn't his son for years...

And he'd gone and screwed it all up because he kissed her.

Plucking at the map with numb fingers, Rumpelstiltskin avoided her eyes by studying the paper. He was weeks from the Frontlands. Miles and miles. And with his limp it would take him a month or better unless he hitched a ride on a cart...but his mind refused to focus on the specifics of his travels. He wasn't miles from here, he was _here_ , in the Great Room of the Dark Castle, faced with a woman who was eager to be rid of him.

A small part of Rumpelstiltskin wanted to protest that it was unfair. Belle kissed him, she pulled him in close, she had wanted him.

**_Had._ **

That word was such a poisonous one to a coward like himself. If only he _**had** _ kept the spinster's magic bean a secret from his father. If only he _**had** _ fought with the other men on the battlefield. If only Milah _**had** _ stayed, if only he **_had_ ** been enough for her. If only he **_had_ ** been braver, stronger, _better_. But he wasn't. He _**had never** _ been enough for anyone.

What a fool he had been for ever thinking he could be enough for the Dark One.

"I..." Rumpelstiltskin faltered. "I-I would like to bring a pack of supplies, m'lady..."

"Take what you need." Belle nodded.

"A-and may I bring my coat, or-"

"Take what you need," Belle repeated, slumping against the chair's back with a careless flick of her wrist. "If you keep waiting around winter will be upon you again. Here."

Gold smoke wrapped around Rumpelstiltskin and a burst of panic filled his chest. The last time Belle magicked him, he was locked in the dungeon for two days. Only...only he was still in the Great Room. Dressed in his warm wool coat and his red scarf, a weighty rucksack on his back.

Belle spread her hands wide. "Food, water, coat and scarf, sundries, map in hand, anything else? There's a coin purse in the rucksack, in case there is."

It was a well-supplied dismissal, Rumpelstiltskin supposed. At least Belle hadn't given him lashes like the army had, or the cold-shoulder Cora gave him. And yet somehow this felt...worse. Perhaps it was because Belle was clever and kind and warm and comfortable and...and _he felt good_ with her. Like a constant ache had finally begun to fill inside him. Only now the ache was back, worse, and Rumpelstiltskin didn't know how to fix it.

Maybe he couldn't.

"Then...then I shall go. Thank you Belle."

She flinched when he said her name. "Better get started then, daylight burning and whatnot."

For a moment a burst of stupidity made Rumpelstiltskin think he should say something else. Made him think he could either grovel his way back into his mistress's lukewarm graces or perhaps get her to talk to him so he could understand, clearly, what went wrong. Obviously she was upset about the kiss in some capacity...

But then Belle summoned a book to hand and she cracked it open. And Rumpelstiltskin knew he had been dismissed permanently from the Dark Castle. From the Dark One. From _Belle._

So he turned and limped away, down the corridors to the foyer, across the tiles he'd first scrubbed four and a half months ago. The doors were open for him and thudded behind him with a final bang that rattled the spinner's bones.

No. He didn't have a choice, except for how quickly he limped home to the Frontlands...

* * *

Wallace the carpenter was a nice man, a little too chatty for Bae's taste. In two days they had come far enough that the snow was little more than damp slush, and the sun began to shine. Half way through the fourth day, Bae asked Wallace to stop the cart and he got off, thanking the carpenter for the ride this far.

The carpenter may have liked to prattle on and on, but, he went very quiet, eyeing the fork in the road that separated the way he was traveling, and the road leading only one place.

"Ah, Baelfire, lad," Wallace eyed him concernedly. "You wouldn't be...you wouldn't be trying to deal with the Dark One, would you?"

Bae held in a sigh, pasting on his most disarming grin and rocking back on his heels. He'd learned back in his village that grown-ups were less likely to hover and fret when you grinned and assured them you were okay. Except for Papa, of course, but Papa was his father. He always knew when Bae wasn't okay, but the other adults just seemed to check on him out of some sense of social obligation without ever meaning too much true concern.

"Don't worry, I can find my way from here Mr. Wallace. Thank you again for the ride," Bae went around the front, giving Phillipe a pat before getting out the cart's way. "You too Phillipe. Watch his right front shoe Mr. Wallace, it might be loosening."

Wallace wasn't too much different than the grown-ups back home it seemed. He didn't look very convinced that everything was okay, but he smiled and flicked the reigns, sending Phillipe ambling forwards.

"Well...it's been a pleasure to know you lad, safe travels," the carpenter nodded. "Alright Phillipe! Off you trot!"

Bae waited until the cart went around the bend, giving them a wave, before he faced the fork in the road. He dug out Red's map and double-checked his directions, grinning to himself when he was proven right.

Just another day or two and he'd be face-to-face with his Papa.

And the Dark One, too...but Bae could come up with a plan to face Belle in two days. Probably.

* * *

Belle stared unseeingly at her book until her care-Rumpelstiltskin, had left the room. It damn near killed her when he bid her farewell like a simple servant given the slip. (But wasn't that what she wanted him to think?) She could feel it when he left the castle, the doors slamming behind him, and traced his presence all the way down to the great gates at the very entrance of her estate. Only when he vanished completely from the grounds did Belle inhale deeply and close her book, sending it back to the library in a swirl of smoke.

He was gone now.

And dismissed, not coming back.

And her-And _he_ was obviously wise enough to realize that. Good, good. It would only make things more awkward if Rumpelstiltskin had fought against her. At least this way Belle felt certain that the spinner hadn't been in Regina's thrall. Regina wouldn't dare let her pawn get away so easily. Besides, Rumpelstiltskin belonged with his son, not locked away in a dark labyrinth of corridors with a monster like her...

Belle's flat gaze fell stupidly at the tea on the table. Her cup was perfectly prepared, two sugars and a splash of cream, just like she liked it. If she wanted more, the teapot was still merrily steaming. The creamer and the sugar bowl sat beside each other with their creamy white porcelain and their beautiful dark blue pattern, elegant and simple, on the shiny silver tray.

**Crash!**

Belle hurled her cup against the nearest wall, sending liquid and porcelain in all directions. Tea splattered the Golden Fleece. She'd have to get Rumpelstiltskin to cl-

Next to go was the sugar bowl, against a different wall, a spill of white powder dusting the floor, turning into a grainy, muddy mess when combined with the cream pitcher's contents. The teapot was a particular large mess of cracked china pieces no bigger than her thumb at most and scalding hot tea, and Belle's saucer followed it with a petite _crack!_

The last piece of ammunition in her hand was the second cup. It had been the most innocent piece of the tea set of all, sitting rim down on it's saucer, completely unobtrusive.

The rim had a chip in it.

Belle's legs gave out and she sat with mute tears dripping down her cold face until ugly, unwarranted sobs began bubbling up from deep inside of her. A tear or two splashed into the last, surviving relic of a good morning in the Dark Castle.

The Dark One preserved her power, her magic, her interests.

**Belle had nothing left but an empty heart and a chipped cup.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, Belle did not throw Rumpelstiltskin out so much as she shut him out. And that's how he feels. Belle doesn't _want_ to let go, but she's too paranoid and thinks she'll be protecting him if she sends him away from her. And herself. Once again, the Rumbelle Miscommunication is conspiring against them!!!
> 
> Chapter XXI: Belle's attempt to drown her sorrows in a tavern make her realize what's important, males are males no matter the species, and two visitors arrive at the Dark Castle...


	21. XXI. Chipped Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle turned Rumpelstiltskin away and the spinner limped home, both with broken hearts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God and other deities bless fan fiction, 'cause otherwise we'd storm the OUAT writer's room and be convicted of arson. Amen.

It had only taken one day for Belle to pick up a bottle of something alcoholic, after Rumpelstiltskin left. ( _She threw him out._ ) The bourbon that had been so comforting before tasted sour. Belle could barely find it in her to finish one glass, and she decided that she was too unhappy to drink. That was a first.

True Love.

Royals and peasants and everything in between often spent their lives dreaming of True Love, the rarest and most powerful magic of them all, and Belle _stumbled_ into it. Her True Love was a shy, stammering, fiddly-fingered spinner with timid brown eyes and a soft burr and she couldn't trust him to mean it. Rumpelstiltskin belonged at home with his son, living quietly, anyway. Maybe his neighbors would treat him more kindly since he'd saved their sorry asses. Maybe they would move somewhere and start over, the coin purse would always be full, her parting gift to him.

Or maybe he would find a nice girl who could appreciate his clever mind and talented hands, his wit and his gentle soul, someone to cherish that tender heart and not throw it on the ground and push him away through the painful splinters.

Belle avoided the window seat, but couldn't find it in herself to close up the curtains. She sat on a chaise lounge to read and thought nothing of pulling the nearby blanket around her shoulders until the soft golden yarn brushed over her fingers. She didn't read her book, instead, she sat curled up in a ball with her face buried in the soft yarn, remembering how Rumpelstiltskin had looked so proud that he'd made it and how he'd tucked her in on this lounge and stroked her hair and treated her with...with love.

_Shit._

She didn't know why he fell in love with her, but it was too late now.

He probably hated her. She wasn't any better than Cora, who used him until she got all the good out. She wasn't better than his wife (ex-wife?) that abandoned their family when he tried so hard to please her. Oh hell, Belle was probably the worst of all because she'd been the one to kiss _him_ , to initiate the damned True Love Kiss in the first place. Belle could imagine her caretaker would quietly nurse a lovesick heart for the rest of his service to her, too afraid to say he loved her or ever do more than hold her hand. How long had he loved her?

Well it didn't matter now.

Hoping against herself that company might make drinking easier after three days of solitary stewing, Belle teleported herself to a small mining town in the North. There was a delicious irony in using a tavern that was frequented by the dwarves that mined fairy dust, but not quite enough to raise Belle's spirits. She sat nursing an ale with a book open in front of her, wearing a dress that was made from a gray skirt that was solid, although her bodice was split half ice blue and half white, down the middle, laced up like any number of the female tavern patrons. She wore her greeny-gray cloak over her dress, but had cast a small glamor spell to dull her shiny skin and bring some color to her lips, making her look nothing special.

She'd even put on a pair of leather slippers for the hell of it.

She had given the barkeep two gold pieces to keep supplying her with ale, and keep any "company" at bay. So far the barkeep was doing marvelously, even giving her a questioning look when a team of dwarves fresh off of duty sat at the table in front of Belle. She shook her head, comfortable with the raucous miners as long as they stayed over at their table. The barkeep seemed amendable and carried on pouring drinks and cleaning mugs at the bar, leaving Belle alone.

Fairies Belle hated. Dwarves she was pleasantly indifferent towards. Probably because unless they came looking for a drink, dwarves rarely stepped out of their minds. They worked. It's what they did, all they did. The same way fairies had it drilled into their heads that they were better than every one else and could use magic to interfere. There was one dwarf, though, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a bald head under his hat, that sat at the end of the table looking at the others as if his mind were some place far from the tavern. An older dwarf sat down across from him, asking why he hadn't touched his food.

"I dunno, I can't eat. I can't sleep. I don't feel at all like myself," the dwarf looked down the table towards one wearing spectacles. "Maybe I should ask Doc to take a look at me."

"You're gonna trust a dwarf that got his medical degree from a pickaxe?" the other dwarf snorted. The younger dwarf shrugged and Belle found herself smiling. He must've been a fairly new dwarf to have that sort of innocence, and...and he almost acted like...oh.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it," the elder dismissed. "Dwarves don't get sick. Whatever it is, it must be in your head!"

Belle rolled her eyes. He could be the Blue Fairy's long-lost fraternal twin. "It's not in his head, it's in his heart," she clucked, drawing the younger dwarf's attention. "You're _in love_."

The bearded dwarf looked at her curiously, while the elder one shook his head.

"That's impossible!" he declared. "Dwarves can't fall in love."

_'Ugh, not with_ that _attitude.'_

Belle focused her attention on the bearded dwarf. He looked like he was on the verge of a breakthrough-thought, and the bookish girl in Belle felt that just because she was unhappy, didn't mean this person had to be. And nobody deserved to have someone tell them how they felt.

She leaned forward on her elbows, meeting the dwarf's blue eyes. "Trust me," she said. "I know love. And you're in it."

The older dwarf waved his hand as if he were swatting a fly and trundled away, but the younger dwarf looked interested. He swung his legs around on the bench to face Belle, and she knew then that he was definitely smitten by somebody. He was looking at her like Belle had just told him one of the mysteries of the universe. "What's it like?"

Belle smiled wistfully. Brown eyes appeared before her minds eye, a dazed grin on a just-kissed mouth. "It's...it's the most wonderful and amazing thing in the world," she bit her lip, looking down at her book. (Why did she think _Her Handsome Hero_ would help her mood? Shit.) "Love is hope, it fuels our dreams...and when your in it, you need to enjoy it. Because love doesn't last always last forever."

The dwarf thought about it, then frowned. "But if love's so great, why do I feel so bad about it right now?"

Belle cupped her chin in her hand. He may have looked like a fully grown man, but he was very much a smitten boy about this, wasn't he? "You need to _be_ with the person you love." she stressed, and he, again, seemed confused.

Goodness, dwarves weren't taught much about the way of the world, were they?

"Yeah but how do I know she feels the same about me?" he asked, frowning. "All she talked about was fireflies, not loving me."

Belle smiled. "What did she say about these fireflies?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Uh, that she was going to see them tonight on the hilltop, that she heard they were the most beautiful sight in all the land."

Well. Maybe men were men, no matter the species. That was something of a comfort, and Belle felt herself giggling honestly at the clueless look on the poor dwarf's face. Whoever his ladylove was, they'd both be lucky if they could make it to that hilltop tonight. Her if he could figure it out, and him when he got to the damned hill

Apparently the dwarf didn't find it as funny as Belle. "What?" he frowned deeper, looking very much like a grumpy cat.

"She wasn't telling you about the fireflies," Belle scolded gently, wagging her finger at him. "She was inviting you to go be with her!"

The grumpy cat face melted, replaced with something that made him look like a child shown a magic trick. "You think so?"^Belle nodded. "I know so. I've...had some experience with what it's like to be reaching out to someone, unsure if they want you back."

The other dwarves suddenly cheered, clinking their steins together, and breaking the strange little spell that fell over Belle and the odd dwarf. He looked back at her thoughtfully, and Belle grinned.

"Now go! Go find your love, find your hope," Belle shooed him off with her hands. "Find your dreams and whatever else is out there for you!"

Something about the word "dreams" made the dwarf's eyes light up and he grinned widely. He got to his feet and spared another glance at the other dwarves before looking at Belle one last time.

"Thank you for the advice. I won't forget it!" his big hand shot out and he gave Belle's a rough shake before shooting out the tavern faster than she expected a dwarf capable of.

Belle didn't spend much longer in the tavern. It was...nice, that she might've explained the concept of love to a dwarf who was meeting the love of his life right now. Ironic, but nice, yes. But at the same time it felt like a razorblade nicking away at what was left of her heart.

Rumpelstiltskin had looked at her like she had hung the moon and stars in the sky in that too-brief moment between their kiss and her pushing him away. So dazed and eager, so much like it had been his first kiss and she the only person in the world. Only someone with their hearts firmly in their chests could look so...so...so loving, and Belle felt like the biggest idiot in the Enchanted Forest.

Maybe...maybe Belle should track down her own True Love. See if...if she hadn't messed up too badly...

* * *

Belle ended up sitting at her desk the next morning, half-heartedly making notes in the runes that would form the base of Regina's curse. She'd finish this part of the Dark Curse, and then she'd go track down Rumpelstiltskin. And beg, if she needed to, for forgiveness. She didn't expect it, but it was worth a shot...

Even if it were more likely to create a Dark Curse from string and feathers than be forgiven.

The ingredients weren't so hard. The bitch was in the weaving of the parameters, building the mold to be filled by Regina's spite. Belle had decided to write in a blank slate for Regina to create on...however, since Belle was laying the bones of the Queen's creation, she did have a say or two in the matter. Namely, that her caretaker and his son would be secure, under whatever position Regina created for Belle, from the Queen's machinations.

That was the very least she could do.

For Random Villager #12, and his ilk, the curse would be very generic. Everyone had a talent, of course, that could translate into another occupation. Candle makers, knights, bakers, blacksmiths, woodcutters; The curse would take their current occupation and twist it over to fit in their new land. Really clever, actually, and the false memories would further aid the seamless transition.

For Snow White, and others, Regina would have to fill in their own roles. The curse would help, but Regina would have to be specific if she really wanted them to suffer. The Curse was, naturally, designed to take away happy endings, so everyone would be severed from the best aspect of their personality. For, say, the Widow Lucas and her granddaughter, that would probably be their bond for one another. For Jiminy Cricket, it would be the spark of courage he had to always be honest. For the Blue Fairy...

Um...

Well there must've been something positive about her personality.

Maybe?

But the price of this Dark Curse, as far as Belle could tell, was that the curse-caster was the only one to retain full knowledge. Only Regina would know they were cursed. Belle was hesitating now, because even she, the Dark One, would be subjected to Regina's whims when she filled out the curse to her specifications.

Regina sashayed into the library at that moment, which really made Belle reconsider what the hell she was doing playing with this fire...

"You should really do something about those flimsy wards Belle," Regina tutted, helping herself to the tea set sitting on the table (a new set, with pale pink roses instead of royal blue patterns,) nearby without permission. "You never know who might sneak in. I wanted to talk to you about a little mermaid that's been pestering me.

"I'm not dealing today Regina, am-scray," Belle doodled flowers on a scrap of paper away from the spell parchment. If Regina wanted to deal with a mermaid, she could just sit her ass on a dock with a fishing pole for all Belle cared. So, she missed the mildly confused look Regina gave her, which was quickly followed by her sharp eyes darting around and critically studying her withdrawn body language.

"Where's your little servant? What was his name again? Thumblemittens?"

"Rumpelstiltskin," Belle corrected quietly, watching the ink flow out the quill's nib to form a heart. "What about him?"

"Didn't you hear?"

The nib scraped over a scribbled heart in a splotchy line. "Hear what?" Belle frowned as she turned, eyeing the Queen suspiciously.

Regina blinked. "Well I assumed you knew, I mean, you did send him packing didn't you? He made it as far as the Frontlands before a group of knights caught up with him. Said he was tainted by evil and wouldn't be allowed to return home. Some welcome for their savior, hmm?"

Belle focused on breathing in and out. In her minds eye, she knew the exact knight who would do that: Hordor. Rumpelstiltskin mentioned once that he'd tried to run away, but the head knight of his corner of the Frontlands, a big bully named Hordor, had caught them and humiliated him...but before the Darkness could boil out of Belle, she caught onto one fact: "So...he has nowhere to go."

Regina snickered like Belle said something funny.

"You really don't know, do you? The knights dragged him off to be locked in a tower. The clerics tried to cleanse him with scourges and fire, but he ended up falling out of a window to the courtyard below. He died."

He died.

He was dead.

He died...

And Regina was just looking at her like it was _funny_.

Belle swept past Regina and flung the library doors open. She threw her arm up, pointing to the opened doorway with a stony face and a taut voice: "Get out."

Regina set down her tea cup (it was a new set,) and swanned by Belle, running her fingertips over a table as she passed. The Queen rubbed her fingers together and stopped beside Belle before she left.

"Place is looking a little dusty Belle," she smiled darkly. "Maybe you oughta get a maid next."

And she was gone, the doors slamming shut behind her.

Belle stood there numbly for a moment, two words circling around her brain like poisonous snakes: He died. He died. He died. He died, he died, he died, he died, he died he died he died hedied _hediedhediedhedied_ \--

**Wait.**

Just wait a minute...this was _Regina_ , butter wouldn't melt in the mouth that held that evil tongue of hers. This could be a lie, could be a ploy to distract her, a wild goose chase. One Belle was going to solve with another bird very quickly!

Belle swept up to her tower and threw open the doors. A pulse of magic would catch Dove's attention, but verbal commands were a good extra measure. So Belle whistled sharply and within a minute her messenger alighted on the window sill, eyeing her curiously.

"I need you to find Rumpelstiltskin," she ordered. "Now."

Dove was a smart bird-man, he took flight immediately. Belle waited until her messenger was out of sight before she sat down heavily on a stool, staring at the stone floor of her workroom until she took in a deep, sharp breath. Her caretaker was probably fine, and if Regina had taken such great pleasure in telling her about how her caretaker died, then the worst case scenario was that Rumpelstiltskin was locked up in a prison in Her Majesty's custody somewhere.

But that would be no matter. Dove could find anyone...

It was four days-a week since she'd dismissed Rumpelstiltskin,-that Dove came back to her window. Belle licked her dry lips and tried to look composed, smoothing her skirts. (She had left the tower, gone to drink tea or change clothes or something because she wasn't worried...much.) Only when she saw the little bird shake it's head, Belle felt her stomach drop to the floor.

"Where is he?"

A feathery shake of the head.

No. _No_. No, no, no!

Belle had augmented Dove's extraordinary skill at tracking down things when he became a bird. He could find items if he knew what they looked like, and he could find a person if he knew their name...and if they were alive. If he couldn't find Rumpelstiltskin--

Dove had flown away, long gone by the time Belle vanished down to the Great Room. There was a golden jewel-studded chalice sitting on one of the pedestals displaying Belle's trophies. It had probably never been used, crafted out of purest gold and bedecked with rubies and emeralds and diamonds, a work of art made from the hands of a master craftsman.

Belle swatted it aside, letting the ringing clatter fill the too-silent hall.

In it's place she placed a simple ceramic tea cup, with a chipped rim caused by a clumsy caretaker almost five months ago, well-loved and cared for despite it's damage.

There was a bittersweet lesson in there that Belle wanted to stab her black heart every day as a reminder of what a colossal, idiotic bitch she had been to a good man who had died, splattered on the stones of a courtyard. He was dead-a suicide. Or was it an accident? Or was he pushed out the window when the clerics met the end of their sadistic patience?

Magic could do much, but dead was dead. Belle recalled her brief association with Dr. Frankenstein, who was so certain he could bring back the dead and so certain his science wouldn't have the cost of magic. (She never was sure how that turned out...) Belle wasn't stupid, heartbroken yes, but not stupid. To bring back the dead meant the very highest price with the very lowest chance of success.

Rumpelstiltskin was gone.

Belle was aware of hot tears rolling down her cold face. She let her fingers dance over the chip and handle and let them tap a rhythm the way Rumpelstiltskin used to. She wasn't sure how long she stayed standing there, but she decided that she was finally ready to crawl back into a bottle of something strong until the ache went away.

Belle got as far as poofing a bottle of firewhiskey to hand before there was a knock at the door.

Whoever it was: They were about to be turned into something slimy and squashable.

Belle stormed down to the foyer and ignored the early red rose bud tucked into the vase on the table that was starting to wither, flinging the door open and opening her mouth to shout something foul as her hand rose up to smite the intruder. But she paused. It had to be a trick of the light, or a hallucination, or something similarly terrible.

Baelfire looked up at her with large eyes in his pale face.

* * *

It was at that moment, when the Dark One flung open her door and raised her hand to possibly turn Bae into a chipmunk, that he realized he should've had a better plan that walk up to the Dark One's door and knock. When she didn't smite him, Bae took a deep breath and tried to keep his knees from knocking together. He took another deep breath and then drew himself up to his full height.

"I've come to make a deal," Bae swallowed, digging in his pack for the parchment and quill. "You can either let me in and be with my papa, or-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Belle blurted out, and Bae stopped digging to look at the Dark One.

She was wearing a low-cut navy blue jerkin, with a lacy black shirt that came up to her neck by was entirely sheer, and a black velvet skirt with irregular patches of gold silk here and there. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun to one side, and she looked...well she looked as pale as the first time he saw her, but even more so, if that were possible, with her eyes wide and disbelieving. The Dark One didn't necessarily looked shocked to see him: She looked haunted.

Bae stared up at her for a long time until he processed her question. "I-I'm here for my papa, I came all the way here from home, and if you don't let me see him then I have a deal to offer you."

Belle was still staring and Bae wasn't sure if she had blinked or not. He wasn't sure if he had blinked either. This was...something was wrong here, very wrong.

The Blue Fairy's deal forgotten, Bae blurted out: "Where is my father?"

The Dark One slumped against the door jamb, and suddenly she looked very young and small and like she might burst into tears at any moment. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

_**"He's dead."** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good News: We know for a fact that a Rumbelle TLK is in out future if A&E keep acting like it isn't. Bad News: There's not telling what we have to slog through in S6 to get there. Neutral News: If you enjoy blatantly disregarding canon, especially after 3A, there's a new Tumblr blog for you disgruntled Rumbellers, Henry fans, Outlaw Queen fans! Go to: https://ouat-denial-heaven.tumblr.com/ for more.
> 
> Chapter XXII: In which Bae makes a new deal and Belle meets an old enemy, and makes a new plan...


	22. XXII. Carry Your Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle's hopes of reuniting with Rumpelstiltskin were smashed to pieces and she came face-to-face with the last person she expected to see...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hook ahead! Fair warning, I don't hate S2 Hook. I thought he was decent bad guy, not really bad at that, just kind of a vainglorious jerk. However Milah...yeah, irredeemable. And I think she was sort of like a Cora to Hook's Rumple: She didn't inspire him to be a better man, she just loved his bad boy image.

"He's dead."

The Dark One's words rang in Baelfire's ears like loud, ugly bells. Dead. Dead. Dead. His father couldn't be dead, not three weeks ago he'd recieved a letter from him, in his father's own handwriting. What had the Dark One done to him between then and now? Had his father really snuck that letter out? What if he'd lied, what if he'd just sent that letter to put Bae at ease?

Baelfire wanted to cry and scream, but instead his voice was small coming out his mouth. "What did you do?"

The only thing holding the Dark One up seemed to be the door jamb. She shook her head and her voice was weak and watery too. "I sent him home a week ago, he was suppose to be-I wanted him t-He made it to the Frontlands and the knights dragged him off to the cleric-"

" _Clerics_?" Bae all but shrieked. Not once in his life had he heard anything good about the clerics, it was always how they dragged off people who didn't fit into their norms or how they flogged men and women to death after burning them with brands of fire and-

"Papa...n-no, no you're lying! You have to be lying! Where is he?"

"Why would I lie?" the Dark One moaned, covering her face with one hand. "What would be the point? Your papa walked out of here of his own free will last week because I told him to go home. That's what happened. If you don't believe me, you're welcome to search my castle from top to bottom, because I promise you, Rumpelstiltskin is not here anymore."

Bae swallowed a lump in his throat.

"New deal," he croaked, pulling his father's spindle out of the rucksack and abandoning the enchanted quill. "A locator spell or potion needs something personal to work, right? If my papa isn't here, I'm still going to find him. This is his spindle from home. You do whatever makes it locate the owner, and I'll be your new caretaker."

"Boy-" The Dark One began, then stopped short. "Okay, okay, fine. But caretakers are too much trouble. Here's my price: I will enchant the spindle to take you to your father's physical body. Whether it's alive is your concern. And in exchange, you will never come back here. Deal?"

She held out her hand, and Bae looked her in the eye. The Dark One was the most feared sorceress in the entire realm and then some, the most powerful woman besides. She was immortal and immoral, haunting nightmares and stealing babies. And she looked like she was one blow away from turning to dust.

Something about that struck a chord with Bae. Something far more honest, if cryptic, than the Blue Fairy's deal had been.

"You have a deal," Bae agreed, shaking on it before he handed her the spindle.

Belle passed her hand over it and it glowed briefly. It levitated gently out of her palm and the cork-covered point indicated a path away back to the entrance of the estate. (Bae had to cover the tip with a cork because it was so damn sharp!) The spindle floated forwards and Bae caught it in his hand, feeling it tug down the pathway. With that, the Dark One turned to go inside, but spared Bae one last glance.

"Baelfire?"

"Uh, yes?" he blinked.

"On the off chance that your father is alive..." Belle hesitated. "Don't let him come back either. Tell him I was wrong, but he can't come back."

The doors shut before Bae could ask what that statement meant, exactly. He turned and looked at the sharp part in his hand, pointing down the road, and the boy squared his shoulders.

This was it.

Whether Papa was dead or alive, Bae would finally find him again. At this point that was all he could really ask for. But he hoped he was alive...

* * *

Belle felt the moment when Baelfire left the property. Same as his father. He thought that she had killed Rumpelstiltskin.

And she had in a way, hadn't she?

The way Belle procured her caretaker from that village had undoubtedly caused a sensation. And how the Ogres turned into a mass of butterflies would raise even more questions all over the Frontlands, until it came down to the story of Rumpelstiltskin-already of some notoriety, apparently-and his sacrifice. The Duke of the Frontlands was an ass, and his knights were worse. Not to mention any sort of association with Belle was the societal equivalent of becoming a fallen woman. It was entirely plausible that the Frontland clerics would try to beat any "taint" out of her poor Rumpelstiltskin.

And she was supposed to be so _damned_ smart...

Belle drifted through the halls of her castle, trying not to think about how dusty things were going to get now, how the cobwebs would return, how she'd draw the curtains shut and return to her dark lair of brooding and silence. She ended up in the library, wrapping the yarn shawl around her shoulders and sitting at her desk.

The only time she held Rumpelstiltskin was when he fell backwards, and she caught him. He was taller than her, but lean and warm. When she kissed him, her sweet spinner's hands fisted in the skirts at her hips, so pleading and so shy and so perfect. What would it have been like to hug him? To be held by him?

One ugly thought kept returning to Belle's mind...how did Regina know, three days after Belle let Rumpelstiltskin go, that he had died?

Regina had eyes and ears everywhere...but they weren't that sharp. If Regina didn't have a hand in this, then Belle also believed Regina was secretly a dwarf. Which is to say there was one Evil Queen was going to learn _exactly_ why Belle liked creating curses instead of casting them.

Belle took up her quill with frightening calm, wrapped in her spinner's sweet gift, and began to write. The most important element to any curse was the precise parameters for how to break it. This was why sleeping curses were so deadly, as True Love was so difficult to find. And with that inspiration in mind, Belle wove her curse well into the night.

It became clear, though, that before she could properly write how to _break_ the curse, she needed to understand how it would _work_ better. Particularly, how magic could teleport and banish them to another land, one that wasn't supposed to have magic in the first place. Hmm...she needed to study some sort of portal.

Jefferson was retired, and Belle wasn't sure if he'd be willing to help her experiment. There were the Silver Slippers of Oz...no. Just no. Not worth it. So that left one option: A magic bean.

Unfortunately, before dumbass James died, he and his trollop Jack killed all the Giants. That didn't mean it was _impossible_ to find magic beans...it just made it very, very difficult. Fortunately, Belle specialized in difficult. And she had an idea of what little sneak-thief could dig one up for her, a fat little weasel with a stupid red hat named William Smee...

* * *

Baelfire wandered into a town down the road from the fork leading to the Dark Castle. Apparently his papa _had_ left, somehow the Dark One had been honest with him...which Bae wasn't sure how to feel about, really.

He dug out some of the money he'd earned over the winter at the stables and boarded a carted headed, ironically, North again. It was turning into April now, the snow would be melted and the ground a muddy, grassy mess. Bae could appreciate how lovely and green the world was outside of the Frontlands, even if the pollen was so thick that his eyes itched.

Bae kept his spindle-compass hidden in his pack until the cart stopped, in a town about halfway between the village he'd wintered in and the Dark Castle. He got off and trudged right into the inn that the spindle was tugging at, relieved to sleep in a real bed for the first time in nearly a week. A real bed, not the bench with a pillow he'd slept on at the stables.

The innkeeper was a very nice older woman who had kind blue eyes, a short fat build, and gray curls tucked under her purple cap. She smiled kindly at Bae and asked if he was looking for someone, and for the first time since Papa was taken, Bae remembered that he was a child in the eyes of most people. A thirteen-year-old boy that was short and scrawny with an untamable mop of dark curls. He probably looked like a...what was the word? A waif? Yes.

Very waifish.

"I'm looking for my father, he was taken from home a while ago," Bae said. It wasn't quite a lie. "I'm just catching up to him now, he's heading home."

The innkeeper didn't look quite convinced, and Bae could imagine how that sounded. There had been a man named Jacky back home that was constantly leaving his wife and five children, only to come back from a lengthy bender that had been anywhere from a week to a month long. And while Eleanor always wept and wailed about how awful he was, she always welcomed Jacky back.

(It really made Bae wonder why being a coward was so awful when Papa didn't drink, or vanish for weeks, and he'd never hit him or Mama...though he thought he remembered Mama slapping Papa once, when Bae should have been in bed.)

But the lady didn't say anything beyond asking if Bae wanted something to eat and serving him a bowl of stew, a chunk of crusty bread, and a tall glass of milk. Another boy, four or five years younger than Bae was, hopped up on the stool beside Bae and the innkeeper (Mrs. Potts, he overhead someone say,) clucked in a motherly way.

"Charles Potts! You're absolutely filthy! What happened, son?"

The boy was blonde, with his mother's eyes, and looked like he'd rolled in a pig pen and bumped his head climbing under the fence slats. He gave Mrs. Potts a big smile with a gap between his baby teeth, and said, "Guess what Mama? Mr. Greene down at the stables got a new puppy! Me an' Tabby were playing with him-"

"Oh, say no more, love," Mrs. Potts sighed wearily, almost theatrically so. "It's straight to the bath with you! You can eat your supper when you're done."

"Aw Mama, do I gotta?"

"Yes, you got to, you don't want to dirty up your bed do you?"

"Can't I just wash the sheets?"

Bae nudged the younger boy, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. "There's no getting out of it. When your parents say you've gotta take a bath, you've gotta take a bath. Otherwise they'll plant potatoes in the muck behind your ears and weed your hair instead of comb it!"

The little boy gasped, looking at his mother with sheer horror. "Would you really do that Mama?"

Bae snickered as he bit into his roll, Mrs. Potts nodding gravely as she bent down to look him in the eyes. "No. But you would look good with daisies in your hair."

Charles Potts took off up the stairs as fast as a shooting star, leaving Mrs. Potts and Bae snickering behind him.

* * *

The port was nothing special, but there were plenty of taverns, and that meant plenty of booze to a thirsty pirate crew.

It was while Captain Hook and his lady Milah were competing in a drinking contest against each other, ("Looks like I go home a winner even if I lose!" Hook had grinned, raising a bawdy laugh from the tavern-goers,) that the pirate captain learned that, actually, this port did have one thing special. A short, chubby, dirty little man dressed in raggedy clothing with a red knit cap sat at a table, talking to a tiny woman in a homespun greeny-gray cloak. He was apparently trying to sell her a jewel, or at least, that's what Hook thought.

On second glance, however, it was something even more valuable. A magic bean, to create a portal to another world. Just the ticket to get them back to Neverland.

On Hook's lengthy to-do list, the top two items were: Get revenge on the Dark One, and finish Peter Pan. The Dark One had turned him into Captain Hook, and Pan, well, Hook was certain anybody who'd ever met Pan would shake his good hand if he killed the brat off. The irony was, that in trying to end Pan, you had to play by his rules. He was far more dangerous than Hamelin, the former ruler of Neverland, who had vanished some two hundred years earlier. Hamelin was just childishly spiteful--Pan was full-blown evil. He and his damnable shadow were constantly bringing boys to Neverland that either joined the Lost Boys...or became lost.

Hook could often be accused of being immoral, but Pan always made him feel ill. He'd tried to avoid Neverland since Milah joined the crew, but if Hook wanted to get his hands on some of the choicest poisons in the realm, incurable even for the Dark One, he would need to go there again. A magic bean would be ideal, and so Hook beckoned to two of his burlier men after the slip of a customer left the tavern and the red-hatted man sat alone.

"Boys, do you see the gentleman in the red hat? I think I should like to do some business with him, why don't you get him comfortable in my office?"

Milah paused, smiling into her cup as she followed his gaze. "What's the plan?"

"Oh, just a little barter and trade, love," Hook smirked. "If he's willing."

* * *

Milah had always liked Hook's anger. It was powerful, dark, it made him strong and charismatic. The way he smirked at the trembling little man on the deck of the Jolly Rodger at dawn, a pack of pirates awaiting his orders like trained hounds, it was obvious he was a leader. He was everything Rumpelstiltskin could never be, and handsome and... _skilled_ , to boot. He was perfect, and Milah never regretted leaving her pathetic husband behind for Killian Jones.

"Now...here's what I want you to do," Hook said, folding his arms as the man trembled as his feet. "I want you to stop playing coy, and give me the bean. I know you have it, I saw you displaying it to your little customer last night. I'm willing to pay for it. Quite well, actually. So what's keeping you?"

"Please, please," the man begged, sitting on his knees in a curled-up ball. "I can't give it to you! She'll kill me!"

"Well, we're at sea now, mate," Hook motioned to the open sea all around them. "This is my element, you see. So if anyone's going to kill you, it's going to be me. Or maybe you'd rather it be one of my crew? My lady, Milah, she always looking for a partner to duel with. Maybe we'll keep you locked in the brig until she decides to practice? Would you like that, love?"

Milah smiled graciously. It didn't particularly matter if Killian was joking or not, they'd get the bean in the end. A bean to take them to another world? Milah wanted to see that for herself, thank you very much.

"He seems a little slow," Milah shrugged, prodding the pathetic ball with her foot until it trembled. "Maybe we should just throw him overboard? We'll have to check him though, make sure he doesn't have the bean hidden on his person."

"Right you are," Hook nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "So! Gentleman, who fancies giving our friend a thorough search?"

There was a few dirty chuckles and the trembling man froze, paralyzed.

"Ugh! Please stop talking Hook, I've got second-hand sexual harassment over here."

All attention turned onto the Dark One, sitting primly on the railing with her legs crossed beneath her patchwork skirts. Her hair was piled up in a curly mess, and dead blue eyes examined her shimmering gold nail polish. She looked up and smiled sweetly, locking eyes with Hook.

"I didn't know you had a thing for men, Jones," she giggled. "Or maybe the makeup and jewelry should've been a tip-off!"

Hook's eyes narrowed and he put a hand on his sword, his whole body tensing up. "Dark One, what do you want?"

"Well, I want you to shut up, but that's _obviously_ not going to happen," Belle rolled her eyes. "So I'll take my magic bean, please. Mr. Smee?"

The red-hatted man, Smee, dug out a small, glowing object no bigger than a thumbnail. Milah dove for it before he could throw the bean but it dissolved into gold-colored mist that reappeared in the Dark One's little hand. She giggled gleefully, admiring the sparkle of the bean in the light.

"Ooooh, that's the genuine article, isn't it? Now I know what my motives are, but what do you want this little bean for?"

"Question my motives all you like, but they shall remain mine," Hook scowled, drawing his sword. "Now hand over the bean!"

"Question my mot-Oh that's actually rather, clever, I shall have to remember that," Belle hummed. "Ah, and no."

Then she finally noticed the only other woman on board, and her nose crinkled. "Oh would you look at that? You an equal opportunity captain now, Hook?"

Milah stood up straighter, setting her jaw. "I am Milah, and I am as much a part of this crew as any man here, regardless."

Belle stared at her for a long moment, as if she'd started speaking Elvish.

"You're name is Milah? And...you're the pirate's lover?"

Well...while she wasn't sure what she was expecting, exactly, Milah wasn't expecting _that_ to come out of the Dark One's mouth. "Uh..."

Belle was suddenly in front of her. She was tiny, almost a head shorter than Milah, so that she had to look up into the dark-haired woman's face. Which she did, studying Milah as if she were lying. Then a frightening giggle bubbled out of the Dark One's mouth and she stepped back, the hand clutching the magic bean pressed over her stomach while the other covered her mouth.

"It's a small world after all! D'you know, I made a deal with your husband a while ago? What's his name? Rumbledethumps?"

"Rumpelstiltskin?" Milah blurted, more in shock that her mouse of a husband actually spoke to the Dark One than anything.

Belle snapped her fingers. "That's right, yeah, I can never remember that. _Rumpelstiltskin_. You know that he was the only person in the whole village willing to do business with me? I know, I know, soft-spoken little guy like that? Why talk to the almighty Dark One? Well I'll tell you, I was just as surprised as you, I can see it on your face. Mind you, he had a most important reason."

"Now I know you're lying," Hook snorted from behind Belle, about seven feet away. "That coward? He wouldn't even stand up for his wife, what could be so important that he found his spine?"

Milah had to agree, even as the Dark One stared at her like she should know the answer. Rumpelstiltskin was a spineless weakling, he shooed spiders out of the house instead of squashing them. He was too afraid to even take her as his wife on their wedding night, she'd had to take the lead or they never would have gotten it over with. Not one thing in this realm that Milah could think of could get that man to grow a pair and make a deal with the Dark One.

Belle clicked her tongue and shook her head, making a critical error Milah spotted quickly.

The Dark One shook a finger at her, the rest of the fingers curled around the magic bean. "You know, there's only one woman I've ever met that is more selfish, more heartless, than you are, that that's only because she ripped her own heart out. You don't even think about your s-"

And then, three things happened at once in the next few seconds.

First, Milah _lunged_ for the Dark One, prying her hand open. The Dark One seemed as shocked as the crew at her gall, and used her free hand to try and shove her off. The two women struggled for what seemed like a long time, even though it was only for three or four seconds and the bean plinked to the deck between them.

Second, Captain Hook dashed forward with his sword. He was aware that the damned Dark One's curse meant nothing but a certain dagger could kill her. But a sword slashed across her back would certainly be a good distraction, drawing her attention away from Milah so she could recover the bean.

Third, and Belle would ponder about this afterwards, some sixth sense made her sense of danger buzz. Belle gave one more shove on Milah's shoulder and vanished back to a clear spot on the deck to gather her bearings, unaware of the captain behind her as she teleported.

At the end of these three things, Belle stood behind Hook, and Hook's blade slashed through Milah's unprotected belly, and Milah gasped as she fell onto her back on the decking. And the fight was over.

The Dark One's jaw dropped, staring at the aftermath. Hook's sword dropped and he fell to his knees, gaping horrorstruck at his lover dying before him, gathering Milah up in his arms.

"Milah! Milah love, talk to me, please. It's going to be alright, love, it-"

Milah was in so much pain she couldn't feel it anymore. Belatedly, and oddly, her mind went back to what the Dark One had been saying before she'd tried to tear the bean away: There was one thing that made Rumpelstiltskin brave...

**_Baelfire._ **

She looked up at Killian and took a deep breath, her smile weak. "I...love you..."

Killian felt the last breath shudder through his lover, and hot rage filled the hole of grief as his blazing eyes fell on the Dark One. She was responsible for this.

"Dark One! I swear, if it's the last thing I ever do, you will pay for this!"

The Dark One's face was stony, look at him flatly.

"You're going to blame this on me? I did not put the sword in your hand, it's not my price to pay. I don't care what you do, but just remember, if you're going to try and get even with me, you _damn-sight_ _better make it worth my time Killian Jones_."

And she vanished.

Belle forgot the magic bean she came for, however...

**Captain Hook did not.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll not even have a whiff of The Underworld in any of this 'verse, so, to quote a certain imp, "Dead is dead." I think this fandom can safely ignore anything from between Season 4 onwards...so let's make with the hiatus fics people!
> 
> Chapter XXIII: In which Baelfire's new friend is in trouble, Belle hatches a new plot, and Regina checks in on someone...


	23. XXIII. Under Darkening Skies...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle's heart was shattered by the news that Rumpelstiltskin had died and she lost a magic item to a pirate, white Bae retreated from the Dark Castle armed with an enchanted spindle to locate his papa, or whatever remained of him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay Bae fans, this is your time to shine! Get ready!

It seemed the sky had opened up overnight, rain pouring down for three days straight, stranding Baelfire in Mrs. Potts' inn.

It wasn't the worst place to be stranded, all things considered.

Although he was impatient to find his father, (however that may turn out,) Bae felt comfortable in the snug inn. Mrs. Potts had six children, total, and three of them still lived in the inn. Her oldest son had moved down the street with his wife, and another one had joined a merchant ship. One daughter had moved to the next town with her husband, leaving two daughters and little Charles, (who everyone called Chip out of his clumsiness if nothing else,) to live with their mother.

The two daughters, Amelia and Martha, were ten and fifteen. They had blonde hair and blue eyes, and Bae always thought of Morraine when he looked at them. They didn't act like Morranie though, Amelia was shy and turned red a lot when Bae was around, and Martha was usually too busy helping her mother for Bae to get to know, but she seemed very grown-up.

Chip, a very active eight-year-old, latched on to Baelfire because he was a boy, and he was a traveler. (Bae wasn't much of a traveler really, but he supposed anyone who wasn't from your own village was a traveler, weren't they?) He asked about a million questions and Bae dutifully answered as clearly as he could, between rounds of wooden-sword fights and one incidental game of hide-and-seek when the cat disappeared during a loud burst of thunder.

"Does it snow where you live Bae?"

"Yeah, in the winter."

"Have you ever seen a dragon before? Was it big and scary?"

"I've never seen a dragon before, I'm not sure."

"Did you meet any princesses on the roads?"

"Not that I saw, but maybe they could've been disguised. Sometimes royals do that."

"Does your mama and papa miss you when you're gone?"

"Well I don't have a mama, but I'm sure Papa misses me. I miss him too."

On the third night when it stopped raining, Bae planned to set out first thing in the morning. He sat in Chip's room, demolishing a tray of Mrs. Potts' shortbread, and Bae would admit that he'd grown very fond of Chip. He was a good kid, a little overexcited and little too clumsy, but a good kid. Bouncing on his knees on the bed, dressed in a well-worn nightshirt that probably belonged to one of his elder siblings, Chip wiped crumbs off his face with the back of his sleeve and asked the only question that Bae felt suspicious about.

"Have you ever been to the magic island?"

Chip's questions had all been the sort of question any child would ask, really. Friendly and curious. This one felt odd to Bae, and he didn't know why.

"What magic island?"

The little boy sat still. "The magic island, with the mermaids and pirates and adventures. My friend the shadow says it's the most wonderful place, and he says he'll take me there tonight."

Once, Baelfire might have written that off as childish imagination. Or maybe he'd have been excited about that. But that was before the Dark One and the Blue Fairy and the news that his father was dead and how he was supposed to follow a spindle, be it to Papa's grave or himself. Now Bae took a deep breath and looked Chip in his blue eyes seriously.

"Who is the shadow, Chip?"

"He's the shadow, he comes to the window and talks to me at night. I asked if he wanted to meet Amelia and Martha, but he said that he doesn't like girls. Maybe if I ask him nicely, he'll take you to the magic island too. Would you like to come along?"

"Chip, why does the shadow want to take you to the island?"

"He just asked me. It sounds like a lovely place, I wanna see it."

Bae pressed his lips together. "Chip...you shouldn't talk to the shadow. Magic is dangerous, my papa was taken away from because of it. And it always comes with a price. The shadow might take you to the island and never bring you home, then what would you do?"

Bae really didn't want to scare Chip too much, but something about a talking shadow invited boys to a magic island seemed extremely fishy. It didn't sound like anything the Dark One was known for doing, but they were close to her castle still, and who knew? She was famous for stealing babies, maybe she kidnapped children? No that didn't seem right, but that just meant there was some other creepy magic-person inviting children to a magic island...somewhere.

No that wasn't good _at all._

Chip seemed to agree, looking very solemn. "Oh. I didn't think of that, that would be awful. And Mama would be furious."

Bae smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "Nobody wants an angry Mama, you're right. Just do me a favor and don't talk to the shadow again, okay?"

Chip nodded and then stuffed another piece of shortbread into his mouth.

The boys ate a few more cookies and then Mrs. Potts came in to tuck Chip into bed. She kissed his forehead and murmured, "Sweet dreams, love."

"G'night Mama," Chip murmured, rubbing his eyes and trying to appear not sleepy. "Though I'm not even tired."

"Well, close your eyes for a bit anyway, hmm? I'll wake you up so you can see Baelfire off, you don't want to sleep through that, do you?"

Chip mumbled something in agreement and curled up under his quilt. Mrs. Potts fussed with the quilt one last time and Bae felt a longing for his papa.

He was much too old to be tucked into bed, but Papa always told him "'night Bae, see you in the morning" before he went to bed. Sometimes, if Bae thought back on it, he could remember crawling into the same bed as his Papa, back when Mama was alive. Mama would always send him back to his own if she woke up, but Papa would just tousle his hair and murmur to him until he went back to sleep. Sometimes Papa would woke up from a nightmare, and once, Bae had snuggled close and tried to comfort him. Papa laughed weakly and held him tighter.

"You're a good, brave boy Bae," Papa whispered. Papa always said that Baelfire was brave, even if he didn't feel brave.

He needed to leave tomorrow and find his father, no matter what.

Bae left Chip's room ahead of Mrs. Potts, who bent down and gave him a motherly kiss on the forehead, brushing his messy hair out the way. "Good luck with your father, love," she smiled, patting his cheek. "But you're always welcome back here. Maybe next time I'll put you to work."

Bae smiled as the innkeeper left. She was a nice lady, very kind. And she made the best shortbread Bae had ever put in his mouth. Maybe he and Papa could come back and visit?

As Bae went to walk to his room, he heard a noise inside Chip's room. It sounded like...like something knocking on glass?

* * *

Chip wasn't that tired, really. But he did want to wake up and see his friend Bae off. (Mama always called him Baelfire, but Chip was Charles and everyone called him Chip, so he always called his friend Bae.) So he let Mama tuck him in and kiss him goodnight, and he had almost fallen asleep when a sound dragged him back to the wakeful world

**Tap tap tap!**

Uh-oh.

Chip sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes as the pane was rapped again from the outside. **Tap tap tap!**

"Go 'way," the little boy groaned, only dimly aware of the darkness moving outside the window. "'m not s'posed to talk to you no more."

**Tap tap tap!**

Chip couldn't go to sleep with the shadow knocking on his window. But Bae said not to talk to him anymore. And Bae knew numbers and letters and was a world traveler who might've seen a disguised princess on the road. He was probably pretty smart. But how was Chip supposed to tell the shadow to go away if he didn't speak to it? Then it would tap at his window all night and he wouldn't get any sleep and he'd oversleep.

So, Chip rolled out of bed and padded to the window, shushing the shadow through the glass.

"Hush! I'm not talking to you anymore. I don't want to go to the magic island, shoo!"

The black shadow stared at him with ghostly white eyes. Chip couldn't remember the shadow being so scary before, why had he been talking to it for so long.

Chip turned to walk away from the window just as the door opened. Bae walked in and looked from the shadow to Chip and started to speak, "Chip. Get away from the window, come here-"

Then the window flew open.

Cold night air filled the small bedroom and the shadow darted in. Chip fell down and something colder than the air grabbed the back of his nightshirt, pulling him up off the ground. But he didn't get very far.

Bae pushed him back down, tearing the shadow's arm away. Chip fell on the ground with a thumb but didn't feel it one bit, scrambling away from the window. He threw a look over his shoulder and saw Bae turn to run-- _only the shadow grabbed him!_

Chip screamed as Bae was yanked out through the window and he ran to the window, only barely registering his mother and sisters running into the room. Up in the night sky, under the full moon, you could clearly see the shadow and Baelfire vanishing like a bird in flight, up and up and far away. Mama flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly, "Oh Chip! Chip, darling, are you alright? What happened? Oh, oh goodness what's that?"

"It's Baelfire!" Martha squeaked. "What's got him?"

"Where is it taking him?" Amelia leaned out the window, but Martha pulled her back in.

Chip swallowed, feel sick and sticky. He pointed outside, to where the shadow had, it told him, come from. His mother and sisters look into the night sky, Bae and the shadow long gone, not even a speck in the sky. But Chip knew exactly where they'd gone.

"The second star to the right, straight on 'til morning."

* * *

Belle forgot the damned bean.

She threw a rather impressive tantrum that resulted in her replacing _another_ tea set, before she took a deep breath and calmed down. (Well, a little bit.) Belle sat cross-legged on the table in the Great Room, with her notes on the curse spread out all around her, skimming each one as she plotted her next move. Taking a sip from her new tea cup, (white with a gold rim and handle, and a pretty purple pattern around the flared base of the cup,) Belle sighed inwardly.

Her currently plan was, admittedly, a tad self-destructive. She was going to make Regina's curse, just like she wanted. However, because Regina forgot who the hell she was messing with, Belle was going to make her pay for whatever she did to her poor caretaker. Maybe she was projecting her self-hatred onto the Queen, maybe she was being petty.

It would be a tad trickier, now that Belle wasn't sure how the realm-jumping magic worked. However it was still doable. Because there would be a healthy dosage of residual magic from this realm carried over to the Land Without Magic, enabling Regina's curse to hold. Not enough to have her Majesty throw fireballs at anyone, or Red from turning into a wolf, say. However if Belle was reading these notes right, then once the curse broke, anything could happen...hmm...

But there needed to be a loophole to break the curse with, first.

That was why Belle preferred making curses to casting them. Any half-wit could cast a curse if they had the right materials, but making one? Ah. That was much more complicated. Regina only made simple curses, preferring to come to Belle, or perhaps Maleficent, for something stronger. But Maleficent was in a general malaise half the time these days, so Belle was the superior choice.

The Blue Fairy knew about this curse, too, mind, but she sure as hell wasn't going to help Regina cast it. That image alone almost made Belle giggle with it's absurdity.

However...

There was one obvious loophole.

True Love was the strongest magic of all because, simply, of the rarity. In merchant terms, there was a low supply and high demand. Oh, there were couples that loved each other and lived happily together, and that was good. But True Love was the ultimate form of love, the kind strong enough to break curses. It still had to be earned, fought for, and once you had it, it could still break apart. Belle swallowed down the bile threatening to rise in her throat at that particular reminder.

But, there was no guarantee that True Love of that the handsome prince and fair lady sort would survive the Dark Curse. More than likely, the prince would end up as some kind of dolt and the lady married to more boorish man, with or without his babies.

Hmm...

What about a baby?

True Love was rare, but children born of True Love were even rarer. Usually some sort of phenomenal bad luck or stupidity kept the True Love couple from producing this sort of precious commodity. But Belle's sources indicated that there were a lot of young couples fighting for each other these days, partly because of Regina. If things could settle down to where one of these groups could actually make babies...well that would be perfect.

Only who would be married with a baby in time for Regina's curse? Belle could only put Regina off for two years at most...and by then Regina might be literally foaming at the mouth for it if she didn't off Snow White before then.

Belle tapped her finger against the rim of her cup. And tried not to think about who she picked that habit up from.

Well, it would probably be for the best to play the field. She'd already planned on needing to have her ear to the ground, a finger in every pie, her eyes peeled, and other such anatomical impossibilities that had made their way into sayings about observations. Belle would need to keep an eye on every couple of child-bearing age until she'd found a True Love couple.

Speaking of True Love, Belle probably should probably give it one last hurrah and accomplish something she'd been meaning to try for years: Capture the essence of True Love.

Worst comes to worst, Belle could use it to break the curse. A back-up plan.

Whatever was going to happen, Belle knew one thing: Once the curse broke, the people of the Enchanted Forest would not be pleased with Regina. And in a land where magic didn't exist, and still might not even once the curse broke, Regina would be lucky to survive the night. Or day, Belle supposed. _She_ might not either, but if Rumpelstiltskin wasn't there...who would miss the Dark One anyway?

 _'This,'_ Belle smiled grimly, summoning up a bottle of bourbon and splashing a finger or two into her tea. _'Will be my finest work...'_

* * *

Bae kicked and punched and wriggled in the shadow's grip. Only it was difficult to fight against something with no physical body. He wasn't really sure how he'd knocked it's grip off of Chip, but he had. That was how he was in this mess. He was glad the boy was safe, of course, but that didn't keep the panic from surging up inside.

They soared over the village and the treetops, and Bae regretted to say that he now knew what a birds-eye view was: _Terrifying._ They flew so fast that now they were over a dark ocean, and at last Bae got lucky, and the shadows grip slipped.

Only now he plunged into the ocean.

Bae kicked furiously to the surface and didn't hesitate to grab the rope he brushed against. As soon as he latched onto it, it pulled him through the water and he found himself dripping onto the deck of a ship. He gasped for air, tasting salt that burned his nose, and he was shaking. Why was he shaking? He wasn't that cold, scared and happy to be alive and absolutely lost, but he wasn't cold-

"Hello lad," an oddly-accented voice greeted, and Bae looked up.

There was a short man hold Bae's rope, a scruffy looking man with a red cap, and a taller, handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes, black clothes, and a silver hook replacing the hand that didn't hold a lantern up, illuminating the area.

The dark man smiled a bit, adding on to his greeting: "Welcome aboard the Jolly Rodger."

* * *

Nearly a month had passed since Regina's last visit to Belle. She'd quite fixed her mermaid problem on her own, thank you, and was currently keeping an eye on how Snow White had apparently started cavorting with dwarves.

How did that happen?

Sashaying up to the tallest tower of her castle, Regina waved off the guards as she approached the door at the very top. It was a heavy metal door, made of thick, strong iron, with a grate through which Regina could peer into the twelve-foot circular room inside.

There were small, slit like windows too small to get more than a hand through, providing the only source of light. A piece of stone or something had been prised loose from somewhere to mark lines on the walls, so far there were enough for five weeks. The only furniture in the room was a cot that was covered in ratty blankets that were only bug-free because there was no way for them to get into the cell. (Regina didn't like bugs and the idea of them crawling around in the tower of her castle was a bit unsettling to say the least, so she had flea-less prisons going for her as the Evil Queen.) There was a chamber pot that was specifically enchanted to make it's contents vanish (it didn't give the prisoner a chance to escape while someone emptied it, and it did wonders for the smell,) and that, exactly, was it.

Sitting on the cot, resting his unshaven chin on his knees, was her prisoner. He wore a dark blue linen shirt and trousers, and heavy manacles clasped around his wrists, hooked to chains on the walls that were just long enough to let him walk halfway across the room, and no farther. His hair was tangled and shaggy and he looked extremely dejected, sitting there. Regina knew he couldn't do much without a support, so for the most part, he just sat there, or sometimes tried to pace supporting his weight with one hand on the wall.

He was a boring prisoner, but the look of utter hopelessness on his face was appealing in a way. He knew Belle wasn't coming for him, and Regina was just petty enough that she liked to taunt him when she had a bad day. It would do wonders for your self-confidence to know there was someone more miserable than you.

And Rumpelstiltskin was definitely very miserable indeed.

He seldom spoke and for the life of her Regina couldn't figure out why clever, loquacious Belle liked the little sad-sack. When he did, it was stammering, stuttering, and his odd Frontlands accent got so thick that he couldn't quite be understood. Somehow he knew Regina's mother, and for that, she could pity him a little.

Very little.

Her father wasn't so keen on keeping this man prisoner, Regina knew. Her father also wouldn't let the man go, but he sometimes mentioned to Regina that it wasn't right. Or she was inviting the ire of the Dark One. Her father meant well, but Regina knew Belle better: She needed something to drive her. And the loss of her little caretaker, who obviously meant a great deal more to her personally than she was letting on, would definitely do the trick. (If worse came to worse, Regina could always use the man as blackmail too.)

Regina wasn't too worried about Belle casting the curse without her, and she wasn't worried about any sort of revenge Belle might try to get.  Because, quite simply, Belle didn't have what it took to bend and entire realm to her will. Belle's major fault was that she had limits, she wasn't willing to do anything to win. Almost anything, but not _anything_ , not like Regina.

Nobody, not Belle, not the Blue Fairy, not even the princess herself would be able to stop Regina from getting her revenge and ruining Snow White's happiness.

**Forever!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how Bae wound up in Neverland. I might go into detail on this later, but now you know where he is. And where Rumple is. :3
> 
> Chapter XXIV: _Before there was a beast, there was only a beauty..._


	24. XXIV. The Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle created a loophole of True Love for the Dark Curse, and Bae was abducted from the Enchanted Forest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Non-explicit non-con. (Because Gaston is a canonically confirmed D-bag towards women, and Maurice proved to be a shitty father.)

Avonlea was an important territory in the Marchlands. Close enough to the sea to be a trade center for ships, far enough inland towards the mountains that it was difficult to march an army over the land without making it a slow, unsteady march. (Some people said that's why it was called "the Marchlands", even though the real reason was that the native accent just made "Marshlands" sound different to the ears of foreign cartographers.)

At the age of twenty-one, most girls Belle's age were starting to be married off. But Belle was the only daughter of Sir Maurice of Avonlea, and between that and her own will, she had yet to meet a man she wanted for a husband. (Her father could never bring himself to truly sell her off to the first well-off suitor.) Every "elder and better" that tried to "talk sense" into her continued to insist that a girl should marry a man with good prospects, and she would learn to respect and love him later. That had seemed extremely backwards to Belle, especially when she doubted a man would ever respect her if he couldn't stop trying to peek down her bodice.

Hence, why Belle was still unmarried. She would have happily become a spinster surrounded by literature and learning, if it weren't for the fact that she was the only heir of Avonlea. She had to marry a husband.

So he could rule.

Which also seemed backwards to Belle, but for other reasons.

Her steadfast-ally was her mother, Lady Colette. Whenever Maurice tried to (in his own way,) lecture Belle to accept whatever lordling he pushed at her this time, Colette would quietly remind him that he had fallen madly in love with her and she had accepted his suit because she loved him back.

Maurice had the build of a knight even at his age. He was big and broad and strong, which made Belle wonder if she had a fairy somewhere in her mother's side of the family to make her so tiny. He was a decent ruler, but Belle knew that the secret to his governing their corner of the Enchanted Forest was his wife. Lady Colette was good sense and brains, she nudged her husband in the right direction and was the charming undercover diplomat at banquets securing alliances and warding off invasions...not unlike a nursemaid minding toddlers.

Colette had fostered a love of learning and an independence in her daughter, and Belle reportedly learned to read before she could speak. And Belle did not favor the (exceedingly chaste) love poems and flowery wordcraft that was "proper" for a lady to read, if she were to read. No. Belle loved adventure and derring-do, the recordings of ancient travelers and the retelling of grand quests. If there were any poetry, it was the epics, the ballads of great heroes and heroines, of brave men and noble women. Belle visited the world through the pages in her books, and a longing for adventure burned within her.

It was a pleasant dream, at the very least.

One day, her dream began to crack.

Belle went to the stables were her father to go riding that day, dressed in her pale blue riding coat with her chestnut hair pulled back in a braid. She had always been told she was a beauty; Soft skin like wintry cream, sparkling blue eyes, and a smiling rosebud mouth. Belle wished she'd been born with a wart on the end of her pert nose, or maybe if she'd lost a tooth or something men would be more willing to look at her as a person instead of a broodmare.

Gaston the Hunter was no different.

Apparently Belle had been tricked into meeting him that day by her father, lovely. She was never a stupid girl, sheltered yes, but she still heard plenty about Gaston. He only cared for hunting: Animals and women. How he was ideal husband material was beyond her comprehension, especially when he continually feed her flattery after flattery trying to win her over on the walk Maurice insisted they take.

Unfortunately, (or fortunately,) they came across an old hunting pit that a young Ogre had fallen into.

It was only a little taller than Gaston, hardly more than an infant really. Belle wouldn't let Gaston kill it in the pit, she insisted they find a way to learn it's intentions. The Marchlands was in a high state of Ogre-induced paranoia lately, the brutes had been spotted along their borders, but Belle somehow didn't think this little guy was there to destroy them.

Ogres were slightly more intelligent than animals, they had a primitive sort of human intellect.

Gaston had talked her father into hunting the baby Ogre down when it looked like he'd been attacked when it escaped. Belle tried to stop them, but Maurice wrote her off, saying she got these silly ideas from her mother. Even when Belle proved that Gaston had attacked the Ogre first, _she_ was still to blame. The Ogre escaped and her papa sternly told her that the Ogres had spilled over their borders.

"And you don't think they're attacking us because of how we treated one of their young?" Belle demanded, but her father wouldn't listen.

He told her that Gaston was going to marry her. His father was a Duke, with a large army. It was the only way they stood a chance, he said, it's _your sacrifice_ to make.

And Gaston came in looking far too pleased with himself, as if he hadn't just trapped her in a loveless marriage and proven how ugly he was behind his handsome face, and she accepted.

Belle's mother held her while she sobbed, and was the only person in the entire kingdom who didn't think the Ogre War was her fault.

* * *

The Ogres, it turns out, were quite ruthless. And efficent. Or perhaps they were much stronger than Gaston and her father anticipated.

Sometimes Belle felt very selfish for being happy about that. Because she was entitled to put off the engagement for as long as the war. She lied and said a marriage would be something to moralize the people, give them something to look forward to after a victory. Both were incredibly stupid and believed her.

For two years, Belle managed to put them off. Gaston was constantly coming and going from the battlefields, and again, Belle was glad. She didn't like how he leered at her, how his hands wandered in the first year and a half when they still had dances to celebrate. He'd never corner her or force too much on her...but Belle was very much afraid of what he would try given the chance.

Then one band of Ogres breached Avonlea. Colette had all of Avonlea's important and valuable books sent to Arendelle for protection, and Belle had been helping her. They should have left sooner, but Belle couldn't leave without one book: Her Handsome Hero. It was the first book her mother ever read to her and she couldn't leave it behind, she just couldn't.

Belle wasn't sure if that was why the Ogres caught them or not.

Her mother threw her under a table in the library and told her to be quiet. Belle had never been so scared in her life as the Ogres burst into the room. She clung to her mother like the child she no longer was, and suddenly the table vanished from overhead, replaced by the roaring face of an Ogre...

Belle couldn't remember what happened, but her father said that her mother had died. But Belle couldn't remember.

She searched all her books for a way to regain her lost memories, she needed the closure. Her father wouldn't tell her anything, and it wasn't like he could make it worse if her mother was **DEAD**.

Belle ended up begging the Blue Fairy one night to help her remember. The fairy did appear, a six-inch, glittering blue woman, gazing down at her with a serene expression. She finally said, after Belle begged for her lost memories: "There is nothing to be done but honor your mother's sacrifice."

How was Belle supposed to do that when she couldn't _remember_ what happened? After much pressing and coaxing and pleading, Maurice finally told her that she died protecting Belle from the Ogres, she was a hero. Belle didn't understand why he didn't say that in the first place. It's not like it made anything _worse_. From that day, Belle decided to follow her mother's advice, to do the brave thing, and find a way to end the war. They needed help. They needed magic.

She was effectively laughed out of the council room when she proposed it to her father, who shooed her off and told her it wasn't her concern.

Well it was, thank you!

Avonlea was the last stronghold of the Marchlands. Refugees shuffled in every day, some had carts and horses...but most only had the clothes on their backs. Belle divided her time between scouring the remaining books for a clue on how to save her land, tending to wounded soldiers sent back, and trying to comfort the refugees.

With the threat of the Ogres growing by the hour, no longer the day, Belle found herself spending more time with the refugees than the nobles. Her father was trying to send her away, but Belle wouldn't go. She wanted to stay at Avonlea until the bitter end. And besides that, traveling out of Avonlea was as dangerous as staying in it these days.

One of the refugees, an old beggar, agreed with her logic. "Very dangerous times, my lady, very dangerous. The only hope a body could have of saving this land is with the power of the Dark One."

"The Dark One?" Belle repeated. "Who is that?"

"The most powerful being in the realm, in all the realms," the beggar whispered, withdrawing a book from under his ragged cloak and showing her a picture of a crooked dagger. "He has the power to destroy the Ogres with a snap of his fingers! This dagger is the only item powerful enough to control him, with that, his strength is yours to command."

Belle frowned even as she took the book, thumbing through the ancient text. "I would never enslave another person. I couldn't do that."

The beggar thought for a moment. "Then...then perhaps if you took the power for yourself? If you claim the dagger as your own, then all the Marchlands would be free of this horrid Ogre War. The Dark One has hidden his dagger in a dragon's cave, in the mountains west of here. If I were a younger man, I would have done it myself. But you, you're young and strong...you could do it."

Belle did not say she would do such a thing, but it would also be a lie to say she was thinking about it. She weighed the pros and cons and tried to find information about the Dark One, but there was frustratingly little to work with. And she didn't dare speak to her father because she knew exactly what he would say: No.

So Belle packed a satchel with rations and a canteen and snuck off on a horse in the middle of the night. She should be back by sunrise tomorrow. Probably...

* * *

The idea of a dragon's cave was, honestly, terrifying.

But the Ogres were worse.

So, Belle crept towards the entrance of a cave that had clouds of sulfurous smoke curling out the mouth. She was armed with a small dagger she'd lifted from the armory, and was starting to wish she'd brought a sword. Or that the dragon was tiny...

But then something caught her attention. The smoke was warm, but damp. The cave was humid, beads of water glistening on the walls and the whole atmosphere was more like an Avonlea summer. Belle sheathed her knife and strode forwards, minding the slick patches on the ground. Because...there was no dragon in this cave.

It was steam.

Belle remembered now that there was an underground hot-spring in the Avonlea mountains. Perhaps there was a cleft in the earth, here, and the hot water boiling underground created this steam. From a distance, the smell of sulfur would make it appear to be a dragon snorting in its cave. The Dark One was brilliant, Belle would have to be careful...

She nearly turned and fled when she came around a bend face-to-skull with a white dragon skeleton. (So there was a dragon, _once_.) The massive body lay on the floor of a massive chamber, filled with gold and jewels and treasure of all shapes and sizes. Belle wasn't sure if she could ever pick one dagger out of this whole mess. The book had said it would have the Dark One's true name written on the side...

**There.**

Sitting on a small shelf in the rock wall was a pedestal, holding a silver dagger. Belle moved towards it, gingerly touching the carved black hilt. A chill ran up her spine and her stomach flipped uneasily.

Belle licked her dry lips, studying the wavy blade. _Zoso_.

Belle retraced her steps, standing outside of the cave. The sun was starting to set, she had to hurry home, soon. But first, she should probably handle the Dark One.

Better to summon him here in a deserted area than the crowded capitol of Avonlea.

"Zoso," Belle swallowed, holding up the knife. "I summon thee."

Nothing happened. No puff of smoke or glitter of magic. Nothing. Perhaps she needed to be more specific-

"What do you want, child?"

Belle spun around and gasped, keeping the knife between her and the Dark One. A tall, cloaked man stood there, smirking beneath his hood. He radiated power and darkness and Belle felt fear creeping up her spine.

"Y-you're the Dark One?"

"Oh, such a clever girl. And pretty too. I can see why that pig fiancé of yours is so eager to marry you. You'll make sure all his big, strapping sons have nice faces, won't you? Because once I win your war, that's all he'll want from you. You're dowry, your land, your body-"

"I don't need you to fight my battle for me," Belle frowned, shifting her stance as the Dark One stepped closer. "I'm going to take your power and finish the war myself."

"Is that so, my fine lady?" he taunted with a deep, rumbling voice. "You'll take my power? Do you know how to do it, do you even have what it takes? A pampered little princess like you? You're only good for your pretty face and virgin c-"

Belle drove that dagger home.

It was horrifying that she'd killed a man, yes, but one man for all of her people? That was fair. Wasn't it? Then the Dark One, dying on the ground, began to laugh...hysterically.

"I'm free," he wheezed. "Haha! Free at last! Hahahahaha!"

It was the beggar.

"Y-you...n-no, no! I can't-"

"N-not so clever after all, are you my lady! Haha! Th-the curse is yours now, a-and all that g-goes with it!"

Belle swallowed heavily. No...

_No..._

She withdrew the dagger from the now-dead man's chest, and stared at the blood-streaked metal. The black letters had rearranged themselves on the blade spelling _Belle_...

The first thing she was aware of after the shock was _strength_ filling her veins, ozone tanging on her tongue. Magic. She stood up and looked at the horse, curiously, and pointed a finger at it. She wondered...

A bit of focus, a bit of will...and suddenly the horse shrank down to a little furry brown mouse beneath the saddle. A smile came to her face: She wouldn't have to kill the Ogres, she could simply transform them into something different. But what though? Certainly not mice or slugs, they'd destroy what was left of Avonlea's crops. Perhaps horses? No, not enough grass. Cows? Same problem, no. What about-

_Why complicate it? They've killed hundreds, they deserve death._

Belle spun around, but saw no one. That was the second thing she became aware of: The voices, so many, whispering evil thoughts in the back of her mind, tempting her to darkness. They wouldn't shut up, but Belle had more than enough practice ignoring what people said. She pushed them to the back of her mind, only heeding one whisper telling her how to get to where the Ogres were.

Belle's world was swallowed by golden smoke, and suddenly she was outside of the Ogres camp. A thrill ran up her spine at the sensation even as she stumbled dizzily, and a mad little giggle bubbled up in her throat.

Which, unfortunately, drew the attention of the Ogres that weren't asleep yet.

Belle saw them charge and she felt the power surging through her again, raising up her hands. Every Ogre she saw turned into a bright red ladybug. And there were a lot of Ogres. Well, ladybugs, now...

Belle snuck back in (the old-fashioned way) to her father's castle just as dawn was breaking. She went up to her room to change into a fresh dress, coming across her father as she was heading down to breakfast.

Maurice nearly tackled her in a bear hug that, no matter how annoyed she was, would always feel safe to Belle. "Oh my girl! Belle, darling, where have you been? I was worried sick. Are you ill? You look pale."

Belle had noticed that her skin had turned paler, and her lips lost color, so she'd applied a bit of rogue to her face so that she simply looked pale instead of waxy. "I feel good Papa, very good. I think I've never felt better."

* * *

News of the Ogres turning into a swarm of ladybugs caught on fast. The people of Avonlea called it a miracle and Belle felt content with that.

But then...

Gaston cornered her in the hall. Belle had successfully hidden the Dark One's dagger (hers now, she supposed,) in her room, and hadn't felt compelled to use her new magic since. But then the tall knight cornered her, looming almost a foot over her, and his eyes were...ugly. Belle thought he was going to eat her alive.

"No more stalling, Belle," he warned, cupping her chin. Really it felt more like he was forcing her head back. "Now that the Ogre War is over, we will be wed. I've been patient far too long, now you will be mine."

Belle swallowed, difficult with her head pushed so. "Only if my father still agrees."

"Of course he does."

"Stop touching me. Let me go Gaston, _now_."

"Why?" he leered. "You're going to be mine anyway-"

Belle didn't need magic to kick him between the legs and run down the hall, but all the voices in her head wanted to turn him into something small and greasy when smeared on the carpet.

Maurice was oblivious to why Belle didn't want to marry Gaston. She found him in the empty war room and begged him to reconsider, told him how Gaston frightened her in the corridor, pleaded with him to remember that her mother didn't like Gaston either. Nothing seemed to reach her thick-headed father.

"Belle, Gaston offered us help when we were in dire need. We wouldn't have lasted this long without his army-"

"We wouldn't have had a war if he hadn't tried to kill a baby Ogre in the first place! Don't you dare tell me that we owe him his help when I cleaned up your mess-"

"You what?"

Belle froze. Her father loved her, she knew he did. But...but he just didn't understand her. He wanted her to be a dutiful daughter and a dutiful wife and gods knew what would happen now that the truth was coming out.

"Papa...y-you have to promise not t-to panic, alright?" Belle swallowed, stretching her hand out. "I-I met a refugee, a-and he gave me a book about the Dark One-"

"The Dark-"

" _Listen!_ " she snapped, and miraculously, her father was silent. "It led me to the mountains, and in a cave I found the Dark One's dagger. The source of his power. Whoever controls the dagger, controls the Dark One...or you can take the power. And become the new Dark One."

Belle summoned the dagger into her open hand, showing her father the blade. She felt like a child again, that time that she'd hid a vase she'd broken and a maid was going to be fired over. She knew it was wrong. She knew her papa would be horrified. And yet, a part of Belle thought that her father would still love her. He was a good man. He would understand why she was willing to sacrifice everything for their people.

Maurice stared at his daughter's name on the blade. _Belle_. Such a pretty little name on such a frightful weapon. She let him pick it up and hold it, curling his big hand around the hilt.

"You...you are cursed," Maurice said slowly. "You became the Dark One."

"To stop the Ogres, yes," Belle nodded.

Her father took two deep breaths and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, my Belle..."

Belle felt nauseous and cold as her father held the dagger up between them, staring at her name. And then she looked at her father, who was staring at her with so much pity that it soured her stomach.

"I can fix this, dearest, I promise," he said, and Belle couldn't move. She felt like a puppet held up by taut strings. Apparently "controls the Dark One" was very literally; She just handed her biggest weakness to her father. Who she instinctually knew made _terrible_ choices without her or her mother to guide him...

"True Love's Kiss can break any curse. You can learn to love Gaston, darling, he's a good man. He'll break your curse soon enough."

Belle wished, for once, that she wasn't always right...

* * *

Her father was not very good with power, but he kept the dagger in an unassuming sheath at his side. Maurice apparently remembered _now_ that she was clever, because he gave her a list of things she could not do and was force to obey because of the compulsion.

She could not take the dagger from his bedroom. She could not tell anyone she was the Dark One. She could not use magic without permission, except for a constant glamor spell so she appeared normal. She could not tell Gaston that she did not want him.

They were married a month after the Ogre Wars ended...and Belle was the most unhappy bride in the history of Avonlea. She was as beautiful as ever, chestnut curls pinned up and rosy lips, wearing a white wedding gown with a ridiculously voluminous skirt and a bodice with a corset so tight she couldn't even hyperventilate. Everyone told her how beautiful she was and several women kept fawning over how romantic it all was.

Belle wanted to vomit, but her stomach was empty. She didn't have to eat as the Dark One, apparently. Handy.

Her father told her she couldn't deny Gaston. Not that she could have: Gaston was nearly three times her size and eager for a wedding night. It was painful and humiliating and Belle couldn't say a word. If Belle hadn't begun to lose her bright and shining view of the world when Gaston had forced her into marriage, she certainly had lost it when she lay bleeding in his bed, wide-awake while he snored beside her.

The Dark One didn't need to sleep.

Good: _Otherwise she would be plagued with nightmares._

* * *

Belle did not grow to love Gaston. She grew to hate him.

Hate was a surprisingly easy emotion to grow, like weedy briars. She grew to hate her husband in short order, she grew to hate her father, the people in court that ignored how their sunny beauty didn't smile anymore. Six months into her marriage, Belle ached to turn every one of these stupid, shallow fools into bloodstains on the floor.

Her father seemed to understand he'd ruined his daughter. Too late, of course. Belle hoped he'd give her back the dagger now, so she could either leave this gods-forsaken hellhole of a life or just stab him with it. (It was getting harder to tell her own thoughts from the dark voices in her head, probably because they were getting easier and easier to identify with.)

No. Gaston would die first if she was going to kill someone.

Gaston didn't care about her. That was abundantly clear. Once when she'd done something to displease him, he'd gone so far as to say he should have married a lady who didn't act like a spoiled child that hadn't gotten her way. Belle was far from a spoiled child, but if "her way" was respect, she failed to see how she was in the wrong. As long as she was pretty arm-candy, seen but not heard, he was content. Belle could only read when Gaston was away on his hunting trips, and she was barred from the council room. It was her land they were rebuilding, but nobody cared. Her father looked at her these days like he wanted to say something, but instead he always patted her hand and said, "Don't worry my Belle, it will be alright."

He was lying to himself, and he knew it.

One morning, just after Gaston left for a long week of hunting the sparse game of the forests and undoubtedly laying with bar wenches, (so far as Belle knew, being the Dark One kept her safe from all manner of disease and pox, thank gods,) Belle was entered the throne room where her father sat alone, studying a map that had once been dotted with pieces for the war. Not it showed what was being rebuilt.

Belle smiled at her father as brightly as she could. She wore one of her favorite dresses from before, a pale blue one, and put effort into styling her hair like the old Belle. No one would have been able to tell she had become the Dark One, and her father had never paid her much attention anyway. Belle knew exactly what it would look like to Maurice when she glided up to him with a big smile pasted on her face and a glamor spell covering her glossy skin and lifeless eyes.

She flung herself into her father's arms before he could say a word and cried out, "Papa it's over! Gaston broke the curse!"

Maurice wrapped his big arms around her, hugging her tightly. "Oh Belle! Belle that's wonderful news! I told you it would be alright my girl, didn't I?"

"Yes," Belle smiled, pulling back. "I'm going to be okay now."

She smiled at her father and let her glamor fall. She had turned white as death, her skin gleaming like polished marble. It had a smooth, cool texture to the touch that warmed quick enough, but Gaston still complained constantly that she was cold. Even her eyes had lost their light, turning flat and dead, and she didn't care what she looked like to her father. She hoped he thought she looked like death.

Maurice paled and grasped frantically at his hip. Belle giggled and waved her dagger at him playfully, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Looking for this, Papa?"

"Belle, Belle what's happening? I thought you said Gast-"

"Gaston is a rapist pig, Father!" Belle snapped. "He hurts me, he makes me _bleed_ , I hate him and I wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire!"

"Belle!" Even now her father sounded scandalized, scolding, and Belle sneered.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is a lady not supposed to talk like that? Of course not. You think a lady should just sit there and be pretty, lay on her back and push out heirs! You know what? I wish the Ogres had gotten to you first, _instead of Mother_! Now you can enjoy the Marchlands all by yourself."

She vanished in a puff of gold smoke and didn't look back. It was the cruelest wound of all to leave her father behind to live, and that's exactly why Belle did it.

* * *

For something like two or three years, Belle wandered the realm, completely free of anyone's power for the first time in her life. She began separating from the dark voices in her mind, began to feel at ease. She started idly practicing magic, little things, and picked up several books on the subject. A perk of being the Dark One was an inborn understanding of magic. It was an interesting new hobby at the very least.

Before Gaston, Belle had been very tactile. Now she felt jumpy when somebody walked by her too closely. When she learned how to turn pebbles into silver coins, Belle offered two of them to the barkeep at a tavern if he would keep anybody away from her table. It was a system that worked well.

Until the waterfront tavern that was overrun with lowlife pirates. The barkeep apparently had a one-order mind. When the dashing young man in leather swaggered in and set down a bag of gold "for drinks for everyone and a goodtime for all", the barkeeper seemed to forget about Belle's silver entirely.

And thus, was reduced to a pretty female sitting alone with a book on the table.

The pirate sat down beside her, plunking down a cup of something, and grinned at her in a way that made Belle's skin crawl. "Hello love, what's a pretty little thing like you sitting all alone for? C'mon, have a drink on me."

Belle pursed her lips together and picked up the cup--and promptly dumped it on his lap.

"Thank you, now go away," she turned back to her book, only for one of the pirates hands, decorated by huge rings, to fall over the page.

"You've got spirit, love," he chuckled. "I admire a woman with spirit. What's your name?"

Belle yanked her book from under his hand and slammed it shut, jerking her head towards him and felt the poisonous rage in her veins.

"If you don't keep that hand to yourself, so help me, I will show you what kind of spirit I have."

She got to her feet and nearly stomped away when a hand circled her wrist. It was a gentle grip, to be sure, but it was possessive and Belle's stomach turned. She looked over her shoulder at the pirate, who was giving her that filthy grin again, one rather impressively flexible eyebrow bouncing up.

"Come on now, take it easy, love. Let's start over. Allow me to introduce myself. Killian Jones, captain of the Jolly Rodger. Would you like to join me for a drink?"

Belle narrowed her eyes, letting her glamor fall away. She saw the minute Jones realized she was not a bedmate to anyone and felt his hand fly away as though burned, but Belle grabbed his hand quickly, stretching it out.

"I warned you."

She summoned the closest sword (a man at the bar's) to her free hand and brought it down on Jones's wrist. He howled in agony and Belle smirked. That felt better than it should have, honestly.

"No, I will not join you for a drink. And I am not your 'love', I am the Dark One, Belle. Good evening, Captain."

Word spread fast after that: Belle the Dark One, Belle the Dark One.

She was passing through a town close to the Marchlands, wearing a hooded blue cloak as a disguise over her black-and-white gown. It was done in a harlequin style, diamond-patterned skirt and bodice, down just above her ankles. She wore no stockings and no shoes, having long since decided that she didn't have to wear them because she simply didn't want to. Only if someone looked at under her cape too closely did they give her a funny look. For the most part, she was invisible.

Which is how she heard the rumor: "The old lord's caught the plague in the dungeons y'know. He'll be dead by dawn."

"Sir Maurice?" someone clearly as uninformed as Belle asked. "Whyever is he imprisoned? He was a good lord, helped beat back the Ogres, didn't he?"

"Yes but he helped his daughter run away from Sir Gaston, and hid the fact that she was the Dark One! The clerics said they cleansed his soul with brands but Sir Gaston didn't trust him anymore. That's why he's been ruling over Avonlea, y'know? No wonder everything's gone to pot. Unless you can shoot it or bed it, that oaf doesn't know how to manage it!"

* * *

Belle teleported to the dungeon cell of her father. It smelled of sick and god knew what else, and her father lay listless and pale on a bed of molding straw. Belle bent down and summoned a cool washcloth to her hands, gently wiping her father's clammy face. Old Maurice stirred, opening glassy blue eyes to stare at her. "B-Belle? Oh, Belle, my Belle, I'm so sorry sweetheart...'m so sorry about everything..."

For a moment Belle thought he was apologizing. But his eyes were bright with fever and she swiftly concluded he was raving out of his mind. Still, she knelt down beside him, putting the cloth on his forehead.

"Oh, Colette was right about that Gaston..." Maurice moaned. "You were right, your mother, oh...oh, I should've known he only wanted the lands...n-never cared about you..."

Belle supposed it was better late than never...but it was also incredibly sad and pathetic that her father could only apologize to her when he lay dying and certain he was hallucinating. She gave his big hand a squeeze and murmured, "It's okay Papa. She'll forgive you."

Maurice laughed weakly. "Th-that's my girl...a-always too good f-for...for her own...f'her own good..."

And he died.

Belle closed his eyes. At one time he'd been a kind, proud papa. Whatever happened to him, she wondered idly, standing up and brushed the straw from her skirts. Once presentable, she teleported up to the hall where all of the court sat assembled, a swirl of glittering smoke hailing her entrance.

"I am Lady Belle of Avonlea, the Dark One," she held her head high, smirking. "And you have one chance to leave my castle, _now_ , before I turn you all into stains on the walls."

Gaston got his ass off her father's throne, reaching for his sword. "Belle, stand where you are. We have your father prisoner-"

Belle flicked her finger at Gaston and reveled in the sharp snap of his neck, head falling at a crazy angle and his body going limp. A mad, frightful giggle bubbled from her throat and the other nobles-the elders and betters, the ladies that swooned at her wedding, everyone who ignored her,-paled as one as she twirled around to see all their faces.

"Going once! Going twice!" she raised a hand and only a few were wise enough to run away, barreling out the doors and hopefully out the castle entirely. "And time is up!"

* * *

Avonlea's post-war economy had floundered under Gaston's leadership. Or lack thereof, actually. Between that and the Dark One splattering the aristocrats against the walls of her new castle, the people fled Avonlea as though it was infected by plague. Belle watched them from the castle, scurrying like ants. She cleaned up the noble-mess with a wave of her hand, the rotting scraps of flesh and dried blood vanishing in a puff of golden smoke.

Gaston, or what was left of him, was left to rot at the gates as a warning to keep out.

But Maurice...

Belle meticulously repaired the ravages of the plague on her father's body, preserving it from decay with a simple spell. She dug out a book and found the spell she was looking for, a reanimation spell. I worked for restoring dead plants to life, why couldn't she make it work on a human body?

Her plan was thwarted before she could even get underway. Nothing happened at all to her father's body and Belle simply didn't know enough about magic to understand where she went wrong. And then the sanctimonious bitch that would haunt the rest of Belle's immortal life arrived, staring at her like a curiosity.

"You cannot raise the dead," Rheul Gorm said airily. "There are three laws of magic: You cannot make someone fall in love, you cannot kill anyone directly with magic, and you cannot bring anyone back from the dead. You're the Dark One, but you are not a god."

Belle grit her teeth, staring at her father's waxy face. She tried to get her temper under control before she spoke, but then the Blue Gnat had to say: "You were such a beautiful girl Belle, with such a promising life ahead of you. Why did you throw it all away to become such a beast as this?"

The first fireball Belle ever threw missed the Blue Fairy by _this much and she wished she had a flyswatter._

"You sanctimonious _bitch_!" Belle shrieked. "I became the Dark One because my people were _dying_ and the Ogres were coming, armies be damned! Not everyone can afford to sit on their ass and watch everyone else suffer! I am a beast because I was destroyed by that so-called promising life you're prattling about! I'd rather be an evil beast than a beautiful puppet any day!"

The Blue Fairy looked frightened before she unsuccessfully tried to slide her serene mask back into place. "If this is the fate you choose, then just know that it will be a short, miserable one filled with ugliness before you are killed by another monster, same as every Dark One before you."

Belle resisted the urge to chuck another ball of flames. Instead, she giggled and spread her hands wide. That seemed to perfectly unsettle the Blue Fairy again. Good. She should be scared. She'd just made a powerful enemy.

"Time will tell, won't it? Now leave my castle. I've got a burial to commence, and so help me, if you're still there in another minute, I will pluck your wings for bookmarks."

The Blue Fairy fled the Dark Castle post-haste.

Belle buried her father beside her mother in the family crypt. She said her last prayer, a kind word for her poor Papa's soul, and then walked into her castle with the resolve that if she were going to be the Dark One, she would be very smart about it.

At some point, Belle couldn't remember when, she began making deals. By negotiating a price, something precious, she could lessen the cost of the magic to her and the recepients. The voices of the past Dark Ones hated that she was often doing good things with her dark magic. They howled in protest when Belle began learning a few light magic spells, but Belle ignored them. If Belle was going to be the most powerful sorceress in the realm, she wanted to know a little bit about everything.

That became her goal in life, to learn and study everything. Magic was constantly evolving, and the world was constantly changing around her, so there was always something new to study. In a humorous way, Belle supposed she was a lot like a researcher and the Enchanted Forest her experiment. She'd helped kingdoms rise and fall, paupers become princes and Queens become cleaning women. Belle was rather surprised that Killian Jones was still alive, apparently thirsting for revenge for besmirching his ego. Oh, and cutting off his hand.

He called himself "Captain Hook", now. How utterly unimaginative.

And so, as the days turned into years and the years to decades, people forgot Lady Belle of Avonlea. They forgot the exact details of the First Ogre War as six more followed behind it. They forgot there was any Dark One but Belle, the tiny woman in her knee-length patchwork dresses and glossy white skin. She was a demoness, a monster, a beastly beauty. Heartless and cruel, with darkness and death her only companions...

* * *

Belle sat cradling Rumpelstiltskin's chipped cup, allowing the image of his lovestruck face to dance behind her eyes before it was replaced with Regina's unmasked glee as she declared he was dead.

Nearly a year and a half of planning had gone into this idea. Regina had her Dark Curse, Snow White and David the Shepherd-Prince (her chosen True Love couple, and not without irony since it infuriated Regina,) were married and well in the family way. Their baby would be the Savior, Belle could feel it in her bones. (Especially since the only other True Love couple she could place was Princess Aurora and her prince...her prince...what was his name again?)

The only thing left to do at this point was get captured for her deal with Cinder-Ella's baby. Belle didn't want the child, it was just the perfect way to get arrested: _"The Dark One's going to steal my baby because I didn't read the contract and promised her anything!" "Oh that's so mean of her, stupid Dark One!" "Let's punish her for your mistake!"_

Typical.

In a Land Without Magic, Belle supposed she'd be back to helpless little Belle again, where a stiff breeze might send her flying away. The Heroes would probably want to imprison her, or if Blue had her way, execute her. And that was, oddly enough, fine with Belle. She was tired of living anyway. And if she lived just long enough to see Regina get her due? So much the better...

And with any luck, (or colossal mismanagment in the Underworld,) Belle would see Rumpelstiltskin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You saw the part about the "colossal mismanagement in the Underworld?" Yeah. I don't know who's operating the controls there but somebody keeps opening the heaven gates at the wrong time: *glares at Arthur, who's apparently in charge now, the dick*
> 
> The Final Chapter: In which the Curse hits and everything changes...


	25. XXV. No More Happy Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left off, Belle reminisced about the past and mourned her lost love before preparing herself for the Dark Curse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-five chapters! Almost five months of posting! And now-- _the end!_

The jailer led the way by torch, keeping guard. It smelled dank and cold, the stone slick with condensation. The bars of the prison cell looked like the teeth of a beast, locked tight, caging a far more dangerous beast somewhere in the gloom within.

"When we reach the cell, stay out of the light. And whatever you do, do not let him know your name," the jailer ordered. "If he knows your name he will have power over you."

The jailer strode forward with the torch, calling out to the prisoner: "Belle? Belle!"

Behind him, Snow White and David pulled dark hoods over their heads as a means of disguise. The jailer was a powerful, dark-skinned man with a booming voice who put up with none of the Dark One's tricks. Snow almost wondered if he was too strict, as this filthy cave didn't look fit to keep any living creature in, Dark One or no.

"Belle!" the jailer commanded. "I have a question for you."

A chill ran up Snow's spine as something moved at the top of the bars, climbing down with barely a sound. "No you don't..." a female voice murmured softly. " _They do_. Snow White...and Prince Charming!"

It was hard to see the Dark One between the shadows and the bars of the cage. Snow could just barely make out a shape moving, swaying back and forth as she purred, "Oh, don't be so shy, please, step into the light. And take off those ridiculous robe, you sillies."

If it was a chill Snow felt before, it was more akin to a bucket of water dumped over her head now. How did Belle know it was them? Wasn't this prison supposed to take away her magic, or dampen it? Snow was sure the confusion was plain on her face as she pushed off the robe, Charming doing the same beside her as they moved forward. The jailer was behind them on high alert as the Dark One swayed again, gasping.

"Oh...aha, yes, there you are...much better..."

Charming cleared his throat. "We've come to ask you about the-"

"Yes, yes!" Belle snapped behind the bars, and Snow flinched even her oddly accent voice softened again. "You wanna know about the Queen's threat."

Not a question. A statement. She knew exactly what they wanted but wasn't giving it up yet. "Tell us what you know!" Snow snapped. (Ordinarily she almost had the patience of a saint, but damn it, she was six months pregnant and her evil stepmother was threatening her people- _again_ -and she had no time for the Dark One's games!)

"Ooh! So much tension, Princess," Belle giggled, wrapping one hand around the bars while the other flew up in declaration. "Not good at all for your condition! But, of course, I will ease your minds...though it's going to cost you something."

Belle's face was visible now to Snow, her eyes adjusted to the dark and Belle almost pressing against the bars. Her pale skin shone like glass and her dead eyes were fixed on Snow's, blue and flat and far too knowing. Her hair was a snarled mess, and the chocolatey leather and burnt orange and pale gold materials of her dress were filthy. She had never looked more insane, and yet, Snow feared she was still smarter than anyone in the Enchanted Forest...

"No," Charming decided quickly, reaching for Snow White. Her husband didn't want to come to Belle in the first place. His mother made a deal with Belle while she was pregnant, and Charming was probably afraid of losing their baby like Belle had taken his brother. There was a bit more to the story then that, but she and Charming were very emotional people. "This is a waste of time."

However, Snow couldn't afford to walk away from this because she was emotional. She moved forwards as Charming tried to pull her back, coming closer to the cell.

"What do you want?" Snow asked, watching Belle bite her lip and tilt her head back and forth as she considered.

"Oh...the name of your unborn child?"

Snow, honestly, wasn't expecting that. But at least he wasn't asking _for_ her unborn daughter herself. Charming was protesting just as Snow cried, "Deal! What do you know?"

Belle grinned, with a soft little chuckle as she swayed back and forth, from the shadow to the light. "The Queen has a powerful curse, one that's coming. Soon. You'll all be locked away in a prison," she twirled around, gracefully indicating her foul prison. "Just like me! Only worse, 'cos our prisons...will be time."

The Dark One stopped twirling and leaned forwards again, looking serious. "Time will stop, we'll all be frozen. Trapped forever, imprisoned eternal. Everything and everyone we love torn away from us. While the Queen celebrates... ** _VICTORIOUS AT LAST!_** "

Belle bounced on the balls of her feet, grabbing the bars and raising her voice to a shout. Then, the grin on Belle's face melted into a sneer, and she drifted forward, still on her tiptoes.

"No. More. Happy. Endings."

Snow's heart stopped cold. _No more happy endings_. That's what Regina had always been saying since she became the Evil Queen, wasn't it? That was all she ever wanted, to ruin everyone else's happiness. How dark and bitter had Regina become over the years? What happened to that kind girl who saved her from a runaway horse? This was worse than Snow White thought, but it couldn't be allowed to happen.

Swallowing, Snow edged closer to the cell. "What can we do?"

Belle snickered, shaking her head. "No, no, no, _we_ cannot do anything. But..." her little glossy hand crept out, nearly prodding Snow White's swollen abdomen. "The little Charming growing inside your belly-"

Charming drew a sword and smacked the flat of the blade against Belle's hand sharply, causing her to yank it away. Snow's husband scowled at the cage, leaning closer. "Next time, I cut it off."

Belle pouted at him, then clicked her tongue. "Well, _either way_ , that little one is our only hope. Get it to safety, and it will grow up to be our Savior. It will return to you, it will break the curse..."

She closed her eyes, shifting so that she could step up on the lower bars and boost herself up. Then she pressed her face between the bars and her flat eyes snapped open, a mad giggle bursting out her mouth. "And then the final battle will begin!"

The giggles didn't stop and Charming wrapped an arm around Snow, pulling her away from the cell as the man laughter filled the cavern. "That's enough, we're leaving." Snow agreed this time, allowing her husband to pull her past the jailer. Only then...

"Wait! Wait!" Belle yelled. "Hey, give me her name! I want the baby's name! I held up my end of the deal, give it to me! I earned it! Give it to me! _GIVE ME HER NAME!_ "

The jailer and Charming seemed content to ignore them, but something turned in Snow White's stomach. No one broke a deal with Belle. Bad things happened. And with her baby's name in the mix...

Charming scowled over his shoulder and snapped, "It's a boy."

He tugged Snow to leave, but she paused. Whether it was female intuition or magic...Belle was right. Charming didn't know what they were having, his mother's charm had only told him they were having _a_ child. She wanted it to be a surprise. But Snow was going to have a daughter...and Belle didn't have to help them. She was effectively trapped in here until doomsday (which may come soon if Regina had anything to say about it, but the cell would still hold,) and so...

Belle's shouting stopped, her voice lowering almost pleadingly. "Please, oh, look! Look, she knows I'm right, a mother always knows. Please...what is her name?"

Snow inhaled, turning around. She met Belle's eyes, the manic look gone and hanging on the impending words, lip caught between her teeth.

"Emma," Snow felt a little smile tug at her lips. "Her name is Emma."

And then they were gone. They had to gather the council and make a plan, figure out how to take the child somewhere safe. And Snow couldn't help but feel, no matter how uneasy Charming looked about the encounter, that she had done the right thing.

Neither one of them saw the sly grin on Belle's face as she leaned her forehead on the bars, purring, "Emma..."

* * *

Belle bit her lip, swinging her legs back and forth on the edge of the bench. She was used to being alone. She'd been alone for hundreds of years, it wasn't that that was slowly edging her towards insanity. No, it was the total solitary confinement that was starting to pick at her tenuous grip. Belle had always had books or potions or _something_ to occupy her mind. In here, it was just her and her brain, and all the voices in it.

Not very conducive for mental health.

Belle giggled at the thought of asking her jailer for a second bowl of slop, since she had company in her own dark mind.

Her jailer was a bit of dick though, he might not think it was funny.

Shame.

The look on Snow and David's faces would stay with her for a little while. It was a good thing they came to visit, otherwise she would've had to start probing their "fool-proof" fairy cage here for faults. Oh, they thought they had her so well-contained, but really, fairy magic was just a little bothersome. Not much of a challenge. Belle liked to play her light magic skills close to her chest, not even that nosy blue insect knew about it.

Hmm...Belle wondered how Snow knew she was having a girl. It could, really, be the mother's intuition thingie. Or maybe Blue told her. Or Granny and Red maybe? They could smell when a woman was pregnant (hormones and such,) but could they tell the difference in sex? Hmm. There were charms too, of course, old family heirlooms. Well, it didn't matter since she had the name.

Emma.

_Emmmmma._

**_Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma..._ **

Good thing she hid a scrap of parchment, a bit of ink, and a small quill on her person when she was captured. (Men! They never thought of searching a woman for weaponry or secret possessions, especially the heroic once.) She'd have to make note of that important detail. Once her company left.

Belle settled her eyes on the rats scurrying around outside her cage. (Maybe if she did escape, she would send a horde of rats to invade the Charming palace, see how they liked it.) One rat was entirely black, another was nibbling on an apple, another still looked very sneaky...

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..." Belle crooned, rewarded by a puff of black smoke reforming into Regina in all her black finery. The irony of Regina disguising herself as a rat made Belle giggle. She also suspected exactly why Her Majesty was here.

"That curse you gave me," Regina started, all warm and pleasant for about three seconds. "It's not working.

Ugh, straight to the point then. Ah well. Belle could stretch this out a bit.

" _Ohhh_ ," she made a winding path to the bars, being calm and relaxed because that really annoyed Regina. "You're worried, yeah? So, so worried! Like Snow! And her charming husband."

"Surprise-Regina" was one of Belle's favorite games, the way her face went still and lost all semblance of serenity.

"What?"

Belle nodded coyly. "Oh yes, they visited too. Very anxious, first-year of marriage and all..." she sprang forward, wrapping her hands around the bars. "And _you_ , of course. The curse."

Regina's jaw tightened and she swept forward. "What did you tell them?"

Belle stood up on her toes so the height difference wasn't so great. (Barely.) She smiled benignly. "The whole truth and nothing but, of course. They can't do anything, nothing can stop the darkness..." she bit her lip. "Exceeeept for their unborn child. Of course. There is that. See, all curses can be broken. And their child is the key. Well, if it's ever _cast_ in the first place at least."

Regina could be patient when she wanted something. Without batting an eye she said, "Tell me what I did wrong."

Belle would do that for free, in alphabetically order starting from the top. Of course this was something specific, and Belle had been waiting for this. She waggled a finger, "Of course, but there is a price for that."

"What is it?" Regina sounded almost like she was expecting that, good, at least she learned.

Belle dropped her foolish smile. "In this new land, I want a comfortable life. I will not be your little whipping-girl, or your maid, or whatnot. A good, comfortable life."

"Fine, you'll have an estate, you'll be rich," Regina promised quickly.

"Nyah! I wasn't finished yet! There's more-"

"There usually is with you, what is it?" Belle could almost feel the effort it took for Regina not to roll her eyes.

"Mhmm, and, and in our new home, should I ever come to you for any reason, you must do exactly what I say and when I say it. Without question. As long as I say..." Belle paused, tapping her forehead as she pretended to search for the right word. "Please!"

Regina did roll her eyes that time as Belle giggled. "You do realize that when this curse hits, you won't remember any of these silly little conditions, right?"

Belle stared blankly back at her. "Sooo...how bad could it be?"

With a bright grin, Regina nodded. "Deal. Now what do I need to enact this curse?"

Belle giggled, dancing away from the front of the cage. "Why you need to sacrifice a heart of course!"

"I sacrificed the heart of my favorite steed-"

Belle paused, jumping onto the bars and grabbing Regina by the throat, pushing her down so that Belle could sneer in her face. "A horse? _A horse?_ This is the curse to end all curses, and you thought that a pretty pony would do the trick? C'mon! Great power demands great sacrifice. A curse of this magnitude demands something much. More. _Powerful._ Precious, even."  
She felt Regina swallow, their noses nearly bumping.

"How precious?"

"Why..." Belle released Regina, curling both hands around the bars. "The heart of the thing you love most, of course."

Regina's eyes widened and her nostrils flared in a very unqueenly manner. "Snow White killed the thing I loved most-"

"Oh, yes, yes, tragic, that," Belle waved her hand. "But is there no one else? No True Love?"

Regina stared at her with dark eyes. She knew. She wasn't stupid, no matter how much Belle liked to tease. She knew.

"This curse isn't meant to be easy, you know. Revenge is messy. Very messy. Not easy. You've got to ask yourself a little question now, Regina...how far do you want it to go?"

Yes. Regina knew. And she didn't care. Potent combination, that.

" _As far as it takes_ ," she growled.

"Then why waste everyone's time here? You know what you love," Belle grinned, spreading her hands, tapping the Queen's forehead under the black lacey head-ornament. " _Go kill it_."

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin had been locked in Regina's tower for...for a year and three months? It was hard to tell. Regina had caught him not two days into his walk to the Frontlands, her knights bound him and tossed him over a horse like a sack of potatos. Then he was locked in the tower, trying to keep a tally on the walls. He thought he remembered Killian Jones breaking in and knocking him out when he didn't know anything about some weapon, but he only came to with a lump on his head and a splitting headache. But then Regina's father, Henry,

Rumpelstiltskin thought his name was, came and let him out.

Apparently Her Majesty was on trial to be executed, and her father, though he loved her dearly, couldn't let Rumpelstiltskin stay imprisoned.

As a person Rumpelstiltskin couldn't understand why Henry kept believing in his daughter. As a father though...he wished the old man luck. Lots of luck. And private sympathy for ever having Cora's claws sunk into him. He seemed like such a nice person.

So Rumpelstiltskin limped home to the Frontlands. Only...Bae wasn't there.

Their cottage was empty and ransacked, and the neighbors fled when he tried to ask what happened. Morraine, blessedly no worse for wear from her conscription, unlike some poor girls, caught him on the edge of town with a laden satchel and told him everything: Bae had left the Frontlands the same day he'd been taken, he'd last been seen in a town further ? as a stable boy over the winter, and someone heard he'd left with a traveler towards the Dark Castle.

So somewhere between that town and the Dark Castle, Bae had gotten lost. Rumpelstiltskin hurried off, grateful to Morraine for giving him the supplies, and managed to make it far enough South to the mild autumn that felt like an extended summer. (He didn't particularly care for the weather between his son and him, but it made it easier on his ankle and progress.) It was late October, almost two years since he'd last seen Bae, when Rumpelstiltskin came to a crossroad.

Everything cowardly in him said to take the path that led to town. He could ask questions there, see if anyone had seen his son. Because if he went the other way, that would only lead to the Dark Castle...

Shockingly it wasn't until he had the gates of the Dark Castle in front of him that Rumpelstiltskin started regretting his decision. But he limped forward, prepared to make a deal if need be. Surely Belle would...well maybe she wouldn't mind...she might understand why...

By the time he was at the door, Rumpelstiltskin almost ran away again.

Only the doors opened for him, and that decided it.

Rumpelstiltskin limped in cautiously, noticing the thick dust. It wasn't as bad as when he first arrived of course, but still. The rose he'd left on the foyer table was still there, although quite dead. The spinner made his way to the Great Room, which was just as abandoned as the foyer. He hobbled to the curtains, feeling a strange sense of de ja vu as he opened the curtains and light flooded the room.

Everything, aside from the dust, was just as he left it. Except for one thing...

Where there had been a masterfully crafted gauntlet made from jewels and gold, there was a tea cup. His tea cup. The simple white china cup, with the deep blue floral pattern, and the thumb-sized "chip" in the rim. The chipped cup. Why didn't Belle throw it out?

Rumpelstiltskin picked it up, glancing around the Great Room more closely. There was too much dust, he realized. Belle mainly just used the tower, Great Room, library, and her bedroom as a sort of dressing room. Those rooms were still dusty when he got here two years ago, but the table was never dusty before, Belle used it too much. That meant that Belle hadn't been here in...in weeks, at least.

Rumpelstiltskin checked the library, and even dared to peek into her tower, but...there was no Belle. No Dark One. Nobody home.

It was getting late and Rumpelstiltskin went down to the kitchen, finding the magically-stocking cupboards worked as well as ever. He washed some dishes and made himself a sandwich and a cup of tea, wiped down the table, and ate his late lunch (or perhaps it was an early dinner?) on the edge of the table while he...waited for...something, he supposed...  
And just when he returned from washing the used dishes and looked out the uncovered window, something did.

Thick purple fog began rolling in from the horizon. It billowed and spread and lit up like it contained lightning, spreading out over everything. Rumpelstiltskin opened the window and a powerful gale filled the room, rattling the glass panes and blowing back his hair. The spinner squinted out and he smelled ozone and danger.  
 

He quickly shut the window.

* * *

Belle could taste the curse in the air. Regina had done it, killed her poor daddy in the name of bitter revenge.

A small piece of Belle had dared think Regina might change her mind. Hmm.

When the curse hit, Belle knew exactly what would happen: Everyone would be whisked away and wake up in the Land Without Magic. New memories, new lives, new home. She wished she'd be conscious for however long it took, to watch Regina realize the true price of her curse: Victory was boring. Regina was intelligent, she needed a challenge and challenger to keep herself busy. She didn't do well stagnate.

Whenever the Savior appeared, be it in ten years or thirty, Belle had a loophole. Her full memories would return as soon as she heard the Savior's name: Emma. _Emma_. _**Emma--**_

_**"Emma Swan."** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it is finished.
> 
> For the second part of this series, see: A Brave New World, in which we learn what happened to Rumpelstiltskin in the Dark Castle when the curse hit, and the subsequent fallout in Storybrooke. (Gimme a week or so to start posting that though, I need a moment to catch my breath!)
> 
> Big thank yous to everyone who bothered to read/comment/subscribe/leave kudos and whatever else you did in the name of supporting this story! I still can't believe I did it! xx

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Stolen Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12498836) by [Of_Princes_and_Savages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/pseuds/Of_Princes_and_Savages)




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